


I Have Control of You (I Can't Control You)

by LucyFangirl, t0bemadeofglass



Series: The Mirrorverse Avengers Series [3]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Collars, D/s-verse, Dark, Dark Character, Dark fic, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, F/F, F/M, Gags, Leashes, M/M, Marking, Mirror Universe, Mirrorverse, Multi, Non-Consensual Spanking, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Porn With Plot, Possessive Steve, Power Imbalance, Prisoner of War, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Content, Spanking, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Tattoos, Vaginal Sex, Whump, my god how did so much plot make its way into this, the authors regret nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyFangirl/pseuds/LucyFangirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/pseuds/t0bemadeofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Within the morally ambiguous atmosphere of SHIELD, Natasha tries to adjust to her new life as soldier-slave to Commander Steve Rogers. But her road is not an easy one, and she has much left to learn. Fortunately, Steve does, too. And their various allies are along for for ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly less dub-con than the first story in the series. Still, please don't try this at home. We own nothing, created nothing, claim nothing, profit from nothing. Please buckle up and enjoy the ride.

She awoke at 4:55 AM--five minutes before the alarm was set to go off--and allowed herself some time to relish this little luxury. The next few minutes were the only time in which she would have any solitude throughout the day, and she was determined to enjoy this time alone as much as possible.

Alone--but not really. Beside her in the bed slept Commander Steve Rogers, his chest rising and falling evenly as he continued his rest, secure in his position and rank, untroubled by all the worlds’ burdens for a little longer. She held very, very still, careful not to link or move the chain that was fastened to her collar; not only did she do this to retain her few minutes of solitude, but also because she wanted him to get as much of that untroubled rest as he could. Soon the alarm would go off and he would rise and meet another day of demands and compromises and responsibilities. Let him get his sleep while he could--

\--but then he stirred, slowly opened his eyes. After a moment, he turned to her and allowed his eyes to rove over her naked form. “Kitten.”

_Natasha._ She had grown used to the pet name he usually called her, but from time to time--no doubt out of some perverse cussedness that Stark said kept her from being any sort of halfway decent slave--she deliberately recalled her name. It wasn’t meant as rebellion, necessarily, but simply clinging to the last shred of her identity as an individual.

All of these thoughts she chased out of her head as Steve began to become aroused--Steve didn’t like it when he sensed she was preoccupied. So she focused on his quickly-swelling cock, giving a few soft strokes of her tongue, sweeping from the its base to tip, then fondling his balls, cupping them, massaging them.  With a groan, Steve suddenly jerked her head away, hauled her up to be beside him, and then, with neither permission nor warning--neither were necessary, she knew--he entered her. Steve took her as they lay on their sides, him behind her, easily fondling her breasts and nipping at her ears and neck. Her body was still deliciously sore all over from the previous night’s abuse it had taken, and this morning’s coupling was no less primal or raw, but it _was_ as swift as it was arousing. As Steve approached his climax he focused suddenly on Natasha, began stroking her clit. By now she was wet, thoroughly turned on by his debauching of her, and after he exploded into her, groaning as he did, he continued stroking her off to her own, quieter orgasm.

A few minutes later the chain rattled as Steve unfastened it from her collar, and she was able to leave the bed, free of it and the chain attached to it, until Steve decided to bed her that later that  night.

Quickly she padded her way to the bathroom and turned on the shower; at this point speed was of the essence. She had to bathe, dress, and get some food in her before she reported at 6 AM for her next phase of training. She _hated_ the idea of being late; she hadn’t been yet, and Steve understood her need to succeed enough that he never tried to hold her back. He actually helped when he could, as he did this morning when she stepped out of the shower.

Wordlessly he passed her the protein shake that he had fixed while she was in the shower. “Don’t want to be late for class,” he said with a small smile. “Everything a soldier-servant does is reflection of their master.”

She nodded her thanks and accepted the drink. He watched as she gulped it down and then turned to the clothes that were hanging, waiting for her to don. Because the current phase of training was not physical in nature, she had no need of her catsuit; standard-issue sweats were the order of the day.

“What’s the next phase again?” Steve asked as he watched her supple breasts disappear behind a sports bra.

“Cultural re-acclimation.” Natasha spoke off-handedly, as though she wasn’t really sure what all of that was about, and actually, she wasn’t.

“It’s a bullshit thing that SHIELD does with all non-nativeborn trainees,” Steve told her. “They want to make sure you all understand the ins and outs and quirks of SHIELD culture, compared to American and international cultures. Don’t worry, it won’t take long. And who knows? Maybe another mission will come up and I can spring you from there.”

“Maybe.” Natasha didn’t want to think about that and get her hopes up. The missions that they had been sending her on had been _very_ tame, almost insultingly so. But it was there in the field, on the missions, that she felt most free. On the field, Steve didn’t permit her to wear the collar--too dangerous. On the field, she was able to move with more ease and autonomy even though she often found herself turning back to Steve, checking his status, moving closer to him and watching his back. “But I’ve got to get going if I want to make it on time. May I, master?”

He sent her off with a greedy kiss and a none-too-gentle slap on her ass. “I want you back here at lunchtime, kitten. Don’t be late or you’ll be in trouble.”

 

 

* * *

_“A bullshit thing.”_ That was what Steve had dismissively called the Cultural Re-Acclimation course. But within ten minutes of the presentation, Natasha found herself wondering if Steve had ever even spent a moment listening to the content.

Everything about it was different from all of the other training she had undergone. In all of her other classes, sessions, and exercises, she had been simply one of a large class of recruits--there were easily 50 other trainees in their lot. But in this class, their numbers were reduced to a mere seven--all of the others in the class were natural-born American citizens, and so there was no need for their presence.. And while in the larger class, their instructors had been distant, demanding taskmasters, surveying them with cold, calculating, assessing eyes,  the current teacher was a different creature all together.

Her name was Agent Barclay-- “But you can call me Bark,” she said. “Because I don’t have one, or a bite, so they stuck me in the Counseling and Adjustment Division. Anyway, welcome to Cultural Re-Acclimation, otherwise known as ‘Bullshit 101.’” She perched herself on the desk and smiled out at her students. “It’s okay to laugh,” she told them. “I don’t kid myself. Your handlers--or masters, or mistresses, as the case may be--have, I’m sure, informed you of the utter uselessness of this. Who knows? They might not be wrong, but I’ll still treat this stuff like it matters.”

A trainee to Natasha’s right--a gangly Asian man--spoke up. “Does it matter?”

“Guess you’ll have to decide.” Bark smiled again. “I don’t always teach this, it was just my turn in the rotation. It’s interesting stuff, actually, trying to catch you up on various cultural and social differences between your home countries and USA--which does NOT stand for the United SHIELD of America, not yet, or at least not officially. The important thing to remember is that your allegiance is first and foremost to SHIELD, though, and not your home countries, not any more. That’s going to mean accepting the things that are different.”

“Like America’s attitude towards slavery.” This came from Trainee Sara Bouchard, a short, slightly-round Canadian who was going straight to the fast-track for Chief Analyst. She had barely scraped by in the physical training courses, but what she lacked in talent she made up for in determination and indifference to the scorn of her peers. Now she practically bristled; it was obvious to all in the room that she didn’t much care for the subject at hand.

“Very efficient, tackling that subject first,” Bark told her. “And you’re Canadian, so I understand your reservations. But Bouchard, I can promise you that within ten years Canada will follow a similar practice. Their economic situation is every bit as unsustainable as ours was twenty-five years ago, when we ratified the twenty-eighth amendment. That gave us a feasible alternate way to confront the issues of debtors and overfilled white-collar prisons, as well as institute a new system to help with the failing economics of the time without putting people further into debt and bankruptcy.”  

Natasha didn’t have to look at Trainee Bouchard to know that she was extremely skeptical of this explanation. “Well, what protections do the slaves have?”

“The official term is actually bondsmen,” Bark pointed out. “And the question is more along the lines of, what protections _don’t_ they have? There’s a significantly staffed department within the federal government whose sole responsibilities are devoted to oversight: everything from the initial contracting process down to the financial compensation that comes to bondspeople upon the death of their wardens, or upon their retirement from servitude.”

“But that only pertains to the _American citizens_ who are bondspeople,” Trainee Bouchard objected.

“Bouchard . . . you actually got your JD from Harvard, didn’t you?” Bark glanced at her notes. “Summa cum laude, salutatorian?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a sharp one. And you already know the answer to your own questions.”

“But not everyone here does.”

Bark grinned, and it was the friendliest thing Natasha had seen in months. “Very true. Well, here’s the simple version: within the greater US society we do not yet have non-American bondsmen. However, due to its unique place within our country’s administration, SHIELD is not held to these regulations. So, on both an institutional level and an individual level, SHIELD is in the position of being wardens to non-US citizen bondspeople, and are exempt from the oversight of the Bondsmen Relations Department.”

Suddenly, there was _nothing_ bull-shitty about this class. Natasha found herself straightening up a little.

“There are four types of bondspeople within SHIELD’s administration: non-citizen debtors, such as yourself, Bouchard. Those private student loans of yours ended up with ridiculous rates of interest, didn’t they? Non-citizens who’ve emigrated here and contract with SHIELD of their own free will, most likely to ensure themselves work, non-citizen white collar criminals, and POWs who are deemed to be safe investments.” To her credit, at no point did Bark’s eye fall on Natasha. “In most cases the bondspeople are bound to SHIELD as an Institution. In limited instances a bondsperson is bound to an individual within the organization, usually a person of high power and status. In all cases, though, the only guaranteed protections are if the organization or individual causes major death or harm to the bondsperson. Major harm will result in disciplinary action against the perpetrator, and death--well, that hasn’t happened yet.”

“How often do those bonds last?” A different voice called out, quiet, from the back.  

“SHIELD has been known to buy out contracts for exceptional service or loyalty, and in those cases the bondsperson is given a pension to set them up in their future life, as well as full American citizenship. But usually the bonds last as long as they have to.  More often than not?  Life, of either the bondsperson or who they are bound to.”

Well, at least Natasha had something to look forward to.  She tried not to bring her hand to her collar, the black leather of it suddenly hot and almost constricting.  She forced herself to breathe, to reflect and calm down.  She was fine, safe.  Secure.  And perhaps her position was not completely unusual. Her fellow trainees couldn’t judge her if they didn’t know what she was, and even then, it seemed like they were all in a similar position.  Weren’t they?  They had debts to pay, after all, the same as she, even if hers was her life and theirs was simply money.  

The class lasted a little longer than that, going over the intricacies of the other bonds and contracts between the others and SHIELD, all of which Nat managed to tune out.  What did it matter to her what the basics of their contracts were when her own had been so defined for her, when her life was now so limited? More than once she considered excusing herself to the bathroom to disappear back to Steve’s quarters.  She had gotten to the point of rehearsing the excuse in her own head before she reminded herself that Steve would tan her backside if s skipped out on the class.   _Damn._  The class had turned really boring.  

When they took an hour break for lunch she had her excuses for not wanting to go back all planned out, and with an easy smile on her lips she practically bounded towards their room.  

“Master?” she called quietly after opening the door, smiling and stepping towards their bed, where she saw Steve looking over a few papers.  He had a hand running through his hair--his usual gesture when he was harassed or distracted by something.   _Oh._  Not a good sign, then.  

Still, he lifted his head and gave her his attention. “Yes, kitten?”

“I’m, ah, I’m on lunch break.  I was wondering if you . . .”  she blushed as she went quiet, her cagey behavior attracting his attention almost immediately.  

“If I’d what, kitten?  Speak.”  

She couldn’t help but shiver at the command in his voice.  “I was wondering if you’d spank me.”  It was his favorite thing to do, to slap her backside until she was raw and crying, and it always took quite a long time, especially afterwards--it worked him up the most and gave him the most stamina.  Far longer than the hour her lunch had allotted her.  She’d thought her idea was nearly perfect.

He sucked in a breath, eyes flashing as he finally, really, focused upon her.  The corners of his lips quirked up a moment later.  “Oh, you are crafty, aren’t you?”

“Master?”

“You know exactly what that does to me, kitten,” he murmured.  He motioned her forward, which she did as quickly as possible, kneeling in front of him and pressing her forehead to one of his knees.  He ran his hand through her hair, taking a fist of it near the very back of her head and pulling her back so she was looking at him.  “Aren’t you adorable?” he asked, sounding a mix of amused and sarcastic.  “Trying to coax me to do my favorite thing so you can get out of class.  Nice try, kitten.”

She groaned as he traced her bottom lip with his thumb and motioned for her to seat herself on his lap.  His hand moved itself underneath her ass and squeezed hard enough to make her yelp in surprise.  “You’ll get a spanking tonight, how’s that?  You will go to your lessons, or I’ll treat you like a petulant child and I’ll ensure you won’t enjoy the lesson you’re taught.  Understood?”

“Yes, master.” _Damn.  Oh well._

He paused and he brought his lips hard to hers, hard enough to make her whimper.  “That being said, I don’t see why I can’t reward you for being so good to go to class and suffer through it.”

She’d just grinned and started to say that she was pleased to have made him happy when his phone rang and she stiffened in his lap.  He took the call without hesitation, and as he listened and then began to ask questions, his voice went from sounding unsure and worried at first to tense, and finally, resigned.  

“Right.  Be right there.”  He clicked off and sighed.  “We’ll have to wait to do this later.  C’mon, kitten, at least you got out of your class after all. We’ve got another mission for you.”

* * *

 

The mission was simple enough, for which Nat couldn’t be more grateful.  There had been a fair amount of nerves she’d felt bubbling up to the surface each time they sent her out, and though they went away each time she stepped out of the quinjet they resurfaced each time she came back and Steve reaffixed the collar around her neck.  Now, as it was, she had an easy infiltration, plant a bomb, and got the fuck out of dodge mission in what their intelligence reported to be a still active AIM base. Not too hard.  

The strong, sturdy catsuiit fit her snugly, even familiarly, as she suited up and strutted out of the jet, the bombs concealed in the small bag on her side.  The security was so lacking it was almost sad, and so with ease she slipped down the halls.  Three AIM officials blocked her way, and they were easy to take out with her Widow bites--an invention of Stark’s that he’d gifted to her after she’d withstood a particularly brutal session with him.  Her brutal little weapons paralyzed the men, and she stepped with ease over their drooling, unconscious forms and headed towards the control center.  One more agent stood in her way, whom she took out with the quickest snap of his neck, before she deciphered the key-code and managed to infiltrate.  Memory stick in hand, she plugged it into the computer to copy all their data, watching the other, sleeping agents on the screens.  As the information started to copy onto the external hard drive, Nat set up the bombs to detonate in three minutes.  Plenty of time for her to finish the transfer and saunter out of there.

Steve and Maria Hill were both waiting on the quinjet when she finally re-boarde; the bombs were just starting to detonate  as the quinjet lifted. Maria stood with a tablet and a stylus, tapping away and frowning, but Steve simply maintained a soldier’s stance, his face impassive as Natasha approached. It was only as she drew close to him and felt him tighten the leather collar tighten in place that she saw his eyes glow with...pride? Either way it made her break her own impassive facade to smile at him and lean up to kiss him on the cheek.  He stiffened underneath her touch.  

“Kitten,” he murmured, the word a quiet threat, a reminder that she wasn’t supposed to be moving or breaking her character just yet.  He’d tell her that they both had a professional standard to uphold, not just as agents of SHIELD but also as a Dom and his sub.  She was not allowed to move of her own free will, and he’d remind her of it that evening, she knew.  Oh well, it was worth it to see the flash of annoyance in his eyes mingled with the pride she swore she had seen just a moment before.  

“So, how’d I do?” she asked, emboldened by Maria’s presence.  

His gaze turned dark and he caught her chin.  This silent gesture was his way of asking her if she was trying his patience, and she couldn’t help the smallest quirk that tilted her lips.  Maybe.  

“Fine.  I suppose.  You were sloppy with that last kill,” he growled.  “You need to train more.  Perhaps I’ll have Stark teach you a thing or two.”

Her eyes widened and she felt her heart quicken in fear.  God damn him for falling back on his genius ally as a threat, but her mind processed it just fast enough to come up with a retort. Unable to help herself, it fell from her lips: “Only if you feel you aren’t good enough to teach me yourself.”

_Oh, she was dead._

Maria’s snort made it all the worse.  Steve’s face went impassive and his jaw clenched hard as he glared at her.  She shivered but kept her face tipped upwards, in direct defiance of the expectation that she keep her gaze lowered and submissive.  She couldn’t help it!  Sometimes he just set himself up for that sort of come-back, and, well, by now he should’ve known what to expect with her.  She hoped.  She couldn’t submit entirely to him, and she doubted she  would ever get to that level.  There was so much more that she could do or say and, while she would go so far as to say that she was incredibly grateful for his help and indebted to him for what he’d done for her, taking her under his wing as he had, she just couldn’t, well, shut herself up entirely.  It just didn’t work that way, and she’d suffer for it that night, that was easy enough to tell.  Any sort of favor she might have earned earlier by offering herself to him to get out of her class was gone and as he led her towards her seat to strap her in with a little more roughness than strictly necessary.

She hadn’t been expecting his cock to present itself in front of her face and his hand on her jaw to force it to open.  “If you’re going to use your mouth then you’re going to put it to some fucking good use.  Suck,” he demanded.  She accepted his intrusion as best she could, gagging as he fucked her mouth too quickly for her to adjust.  He didn’t stop, ignoring the tears that were running down her cheeks, holding her now by the collar to pull her closer then push her away.  The leather burned and rubbed at her skin in the most delicious of ways and she couldn’t help herself from moaning as he kept thrusting.  That earned her nothing but a hard shove against her gag reflex.  

“This is not for you,” he snarled.  “This is for me, and this is to teach you a fucking lesson, kitten. Though there’s no reason for me to tell you not to enjoy it; you can’t fucking help it, can you?  Harlot.”  She thought there might have been the softest hint of affection in the name, but anything other than that was quickly lost as he picked up the pace and she wasn’t able to comprehend much more than the ache in her jaw and the soreness of her throat as he used it for his personal fuck-toy.  When he finally came it was after grabbing her collar and choking her with it, so that when his come poured itself down her throat all she felt was the heat of it and the way her throat constricted from the lack of oxygen.  Only after she’d swallowed it all down and cleaned him up as best she could did he release her, shoving her back into the seat as he collected and zipped himself up.  

“Don’t move another fucking muscle until we get back,” he ordered with a snarl as he moved forward to the cockpit, to talk to the pilot.  She heard him demand that they make it back as soon as possible and with a quick murmur of understanding, the pilot complied, pushing up the throttle.

With Steve’s back to them, Maria had moved to sit beside Nat, her eyes confused and intrigued at the same time as she took in the red-head.  “I suppose it won’t do to tell you that you’re playing a damn dangerous game with Rogers, would it?”

Nat allowed herself to smile a little as her eyes shifted towards the woman.  She’d always liked Maria, admired the way the deputy-Director had a no-nonsense attitude, and yet there was always the edge of humor and sarcasm and honest-to-God wit in her words.  Now, as Steve sensed the woman moving to sit by his sub, he wheeled and opened his mouth to yell.  Maria just fixed him with a glare.  

“I want a talk with our trainee, Commander.  I outrank you.  Go sit with the pilots.”

If Nat thought her talking back to Steve was strange, she found it even stranger to see him take an order and follow it, but he did, his jaw clenching tightly as he glowered at the women and turned on his heel to disappear back to the pilots.  Maria’s eyes followed him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, before she refocused back on Natasha.

“You can speak freely, soldier.”

The doubt was clearly written all over Natasha’s face. “With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t know that. I’m still learning my place in...the organization.”

Again, Maria snorted. “That’s a very tactful way to phrase it. Maybe you _have_ been learning to bite your tongue around Rogers, even if you seem to be having a problem with it lately.”

In the face of this remark, Natasha had no immediate response; her mind was spinning away, trying to craft the most honest response to this without giving the Deputy Director enough rope to  hang her, if she ever became so inclined. Finally, she spoke so quietly--conscious of Steve’s enhanced hearing--that Maria had to lean in to hear her.

“I don’t care if I _am_ a slave to SHIELD and Steve until I die. That I can accept. But I’m still _me._ I’m never going to be a drone.”

“And talking back and pushing Roger’s buttons is how you’re trying to maintain some sense of autonomy,” Maria surmised, her gaze thoughtful.

“I guess.” Natasha glanced towards the cockpit apprehensively. “You’re right. I push. It’s all so damned--complicated. I recognize that he’s my master, I accept that, I call him that, but--” she stopped talking, afraid she had already said too much.

“But in your mind he’s _Steve,”_ Maria concluded. Natasha remained silent, not denying, but _definitely_ not confirming. “I’m not surprised. Some people are more temperamentally suited for your position but you’re not. You’re not a natural. It’ll probably always be a struggle.”

“I kind of hope it is,” Natasha said softly. The thought of ever simply giving up every last bit of herself made her a little nauseous.

“I have two bondservants,” Maria remarked, almost off-handedly. “Agents Hana Sakong and Micha Banaszek. Hana, she’s been with me the longest. Micha, I acquired him about two years ago. But he’s adjusted better, and faster, than Hana ever did.” She shook her head. “But we work well together. And I know it’s strange to hear, but mostly with Hana, she’s _happy._ And I’m happy with her. Don’t ever forget--usually, in a master-servant relationship, there’s the potential for incredibly strong bonds. But it takes time and trust to get there.”

Natasha had never had an older sister, and in the Red Room, the basic idea behind the concept of “mentoring” was limited to teaching the students, firsthand, how to victimize and brutalize and withstand the same kind of treatment. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Consider it professional advice,” Maria told her. “You think you know what you’re doing? Okay. Just because a SHIELD master hasn’t killed a bondservant yet doesn’t mean that you and Rogers can’t be that exception.  I’d hate for our newest member to die so suddenly.”

The words stopped Nat for a heartbeat, before her her pulse picked up in her veins, her eyes widening.  “I got in?!”

“You did.  Rogers didn’t tell you?”

The _fucker,_ of course he hadn’t, any more than he had ever told her anything to do with the ins and outs and nuances of her position within SHIELD. _Probably just another way to keep control_. “He hasn’t said anything,” Natasha finally answered Maria.  

“This mission was just one final test--almost an afterthought, really. Once Rogers and Stark got past your Red Room loyalties, all of the training was more of a formality. You’re in peak physical condition, and you’ve already had plenty of training and experience, much more than the rest of the trainees in the class.” Maria allowed a note of approval to creep into your voice. “You’ll do fine in SHIELD, Agent.  So long as you figure out how to manage the Commander, there. Remember that--no matter how well you do in SHIELD, he’s the one you’ll need to keep happy.”

The triumph that Natasha had allowed herself to revel in now flickered a little as her eyes jumped to Steve, still standing near the cockpit. Keep Steve Rogers happy? It hadn’t been easy, ever, and something told her that wasn’t about to change. How could one man--one _meathead,_ who seemed to live only to fight and fuck and dominate, provoke so many conflicting thoughts and desires within her? And how was she ever supposed to reconcile herself to a world in which that no longer mattered?

It was as though there was a psychic link between them--as Natasha pondered this, she glared at her Master. It was simply her bad luck that he caught it, his own eyes promising her more pain than she’d seen in some time. Her body thrilled even as a portion of her mind dissented. To keep herself focused, she smiled at Maria. “Thank you, Deputy Director Hill.”

“Please.  Just Hill.  That’s far too much of a mouthful.” Maria smiled, and Natasha allowed herself to notice how much younger the woman seemed with that smile. “Judging by the way Rogers is giving us the evil eye, though, you won’t be thanking me for long.”

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We own nothing. We're not talented writers, we just play them at night. Without profit.

* * *

Natasha was in trouble and she knew it, but somehow this didn’t seem to cow her. As Steve  silently observed her, feeling his anger grow, a part of him just wished he could figure out why the hell she deliberately kept pushing his buttons and provoking him.  

She was doing it now, even after they had returned to headquarters and disembarked the Quinjet. Her current offense was to herself aloof and quiet, far moreso than usual. This too was deliberate, she _knew_ Steve hated that more than any other perceived offense. It reminded him too much of the early days, the time before he had broken her, when she withheld most of her reactions. And now she would barely look at him, even when he grabbed her hair and forced her to look up at him--it only riled him up further.  

“I want you naked and on the bed, collar only, by the time I get there.  If you aren’t, so help me God I’ll grab a cane from Stark’s quarters and hit you with it until you cannot feel a thing below your neck.  Understood?”

“Yes, master.”  There was a bite to her words, even then, and he didn’t bother to suppress a frustrated snarl as he shoved her away from him.  She didn’t have any new escape plots hatched, he felt certain--though, irrationally, he was tempted to to double-check as he walked his way to Fury’s office--but dammit, what the hell had gotten into her? 

 

* * *

Fury was as pleased as Steve had ever seen him when he told the Director that Nat’s latest training mission had been successful, and as they’d discussed--and as he knew that Hill had revealed to her--Fury told Steve she was getting a full-time position within SHIELD.  She’d still serve under Steve, but she was a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Steve wanted her at his back--at least, he had up until now--but after today, he wasn’t so sure she’d bother to even try and save him if it came down to it. The idea was enough to force him to bite his tongue hard enough to taste blood. 

Maybe things would turn out.  Maybe.  But then, relationships of any kind didn’t function well on maybes, on or off of the field.  

At least she’d obeyed him by the time he got to their room, his belt already off and ready in his hands as he ordered her to flip over and close her eyes. This last order was a deliberate choice on his part--with her eyes closed, she could only listen as he moved to the side of the bed, and feel the tug of the collar as he fastened the chain to it. Now she was held to the bed, with no escape, and he smiled, soothed a little. He saw her holding her body stiff, in either dread or anticipation, and decided not to hold her in any more suspense. He brought his belt down in the first strike, and the sharp slap of it against her ass--too long unpunished--was met by a stifled, involuntary shout.

“Be _silent_ ,” he growled.  “I don’t want to hear a damn thing, or I’ll gag you this time.”  

She had the audacity to turn her head to him, to lift one eyebrow, then resume her previous position.  He rewarded her with another hard hit of his belt against her ass, and then, not wanting to give her another chance to rebel, let loose his anger.  He never hit the same patch of reddened skin twice, always inflicting more pain in new places. Once he had started in on the back of her thighs--this patch of skin still tender and sore from the last time he had punished her--she hadn’t been able to keep quiet. Steve was a man who honored his word, and so and as promised he’d shoved a scarf into her mouth to keep her silent.

“Wonder where I got this scarf?” he hissed as he clutched at her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her to look at him. “I’ve been _waiting_ for a chance to use it. Since you’re so damned good with your tongue, sucking me off whenever I tell you to, I couldn’t bear to cut it out. So I’ll silence you like this.”

The scarf did its job well enough, and had the added--though unintentional--bonus of giving her something to bite down upon. And so he continued, bringing his belt down and smiling as she fought against the collar, the chain, the gag, and her position. It was when they were like this that Steve remembered that he almost preferred her defiance; it felt so fucking good to subdue her every time. And what better way than... he began to craft a better idea.  Abruptly he halted, dropping the belt and bringing his hands to her ass--the pale fresh now red and angry and sensitive--and prying her cheeks apart.

“You know this is the perfect way to fuck you, kitten,” he mused. “I don’t have to hear you or even _look_ at you. I can just shove in and get off and goddamn, you’d be so tight if I did it like that.” He felt her tremble, and smirked. Fear or desire? Probably both, and all the better. “But lucky you have such a good master, hmmm?” He sucked on his index and middle fingers just enough for a cursory wetness, and without any more warning, he shoved in one and then another almost immediately after.  From behind her gag, Natasha tried to babble something--a plea for more or a protest for less, he didn’t give a damn either way--and then cried as she clenched around his fingers. With his free hand, he grabbed his belt again, looped it around her neck pulled back on it.  

“Relax, kitten,” he taunted her, “I’m going in one way or another.  You have half a minute before I do. Go.”

He felt, more than heard, her whine as she tried to relax her legs, and slowly the ring of muscle clenching around his fingers loosened.  He pressed them all the rest of the way in, ignoring her whimper as he started fucking and scissoring her open with his hand.  Perhaps sometime he’d work at fitting all of it in, then maybe invite Stark along to join him, but that was for another day. Right now, he wanted her right then and he wanted her right there.  This time, more for his benefit than hers, he grabbed at the large, pump-handle bottle of lube they kept beside their bed--already half empty, if that was any indication of what Steve did to and with her on a very regular basis--and after squirting some onto his free hand and stroking himself until he was sopping wet, he removed his fingers to press his cock all the way in instead.  She was always so tight and so uncompromising when he took her ass, perfect and just for him. He gave her a moment to adjust before he heard her whimpers change in tenor and turn to full fledged moans, grinning at how well she responded to him.

“Such a good little whore. No matter how high you rise in SHIELD, you’ll always remember what your real job is,” he murmured. “Now fuck back against me, kitten.  Show me how much you love my cock.”

When she hesitated--he was big, after all, and she was tight--he pinched one of her nipples hard enough to make her shout through the gag.  After a second’s thought he removed the scarf, laughing as she coughed against the dryness of her mouth.  He’d change that soon enough.  “I want to hear you tell me how much you love it.  Fuck me, kitten, and tell me how badly you want it.  All the time.”

“St--Master,” Nat corrected herself as he bucked his hips particularly hard against her, feeling her clench and contract around him as he laughed, now gripping her hips as he pulled her back into him.nd then he shifted suddenly, pulling out and sitting back  on his knees. In confusion, Nat glanced back and saw his cock, swollen and dripping obscenely, standing erect and waiting for her. Steve grabbed onto her hips and pulled her back onto his cock, slapping her ass to remind her what she was supposed to do.  Slowly she started pushing back against him, rocking so that she could get a better position, one that took less of him in and afforded him less control, and that wouldn’t do.  He ordered her to stop just before she really got going, smirking when she moaned in the agony of having to stop, before he ordered her to shift. She managed to barely position herself on the balls of her feet before he started fucking up into her, driving into her ass. The chain attaching her collar to the bed had almost reached the extent of its yield, and she gasped as much from that as she did this new angle that seemed on the verge of splitting her in two.  

Steve, of course, loved it. “Kitten, I said I want to hear you.  Don’t let me down, not now.”

“Fuck--Master--Pleasepleaseplease I need your cock, please,” she whined as she started to bounce atop him, her breasts heavy as Steve’s hands moved to take them in his grip, squeezing at the nipples again, pinching and teasing the tender flesh.  “Oh God, I wanted it for so long--so hard, so good, please Master please,” she whimpered, back arching as she rode him as hard as she could.  He’d never get enough of the sight, of seeing her completely undone atop him.  Or beneath him.  Truth be told he wasn’t exactly picky.  “It’s all I think about when I’m on a mission, sir, is coming back to this.  Please, Steve--.”

“Kitten,” he squeezed her throat.  “That’s not what you’re supposed to call me, is it?”

“No--.”

“IS IT?” He thrust himself harder into her, making her scream his title, tears dripping down the side of her face and hitting the back of Steve’s hand.  She didn’t last much longer than that and he felt her convulse around him, setting him off just as quickly.  Damn her; she always did that--coming first and making sure she tightened up as much as possible to entice him to follow.  

“You’re still in trouble,” he growled as he pushed her off of him, chain rattling as it slackened.  “Now, go fetch the plug.”

“Yes, master,” she rasped, voice nothing more than a scratched-up imitation of what it used to be, making Steve laugh.  

“And don’t lose a single drop of my come.  For every bit that you lose your punishment will be worse for it.”  

She nodded her understanding and carefully made her way over to the wardrobe next to the bed.  From there she pulled out a blue plug, just large enough to fill the hole that Steve had left and when she returned to offer it to Steve he pressed it inside her without any preamble.

“Now.  Go sit on the wall and think of what you’ve done. All your sassing and defiance. And   Don’t.  Fucking.  Move.”

Nat didn’t bring her eyes to his and he smiled to see her going subservient once more as she stood, the blue, flat plastic end of the plug nestled between her cheeks, and moved over to press her backside against the wall, hands resting on her bent knees and head down.  They’d done this before, and Steve had been rather proud of himself for having thought it up. She could withstand quite a bit, but when every shift of her muscles set the plug shifting inside her it made it all the more difficult for her to suffer through.  Lazily, he picked up the scarf he’d used to gag her and, before she could say much else, he’d wrapped and tied it around her head so that it kept her mouth open but she was unable to speak.  He stroked one side of her face before smirking, a not-very-veiled threat in his voice.  

“Don’t let me down, again, kitten.”

 

* * *

 

Two days later, they got their next mission--the call came in for them to pack their bags and head for Puente Antiguo, a wretched little town in New Mexico. There they would be shadowing a possible new recruit, a strange person who was said to possess strength that rivaled most men, though Steve hardly believed that. 

With one hand firmly on the back of Natasha’s neck, he steered her towards the quinjet. This was going to be her first mission--her first _real_ one. What no one had told her--not  Hill, or Fury, or Stark, or definitely not Steve--was that the other missions hadn’t been missions at all, but rather controlled situations--tests of whether or not she’d be able to do everything that SHIELD would require. As Fury had pointed out, and Steve had reluctantly agreed, “no point in sending her out in the field until we know she’s not going to go rogue.

Well, she hadn’t gone rogue on her trial runs, and she had treated them with no less dedication and seriousness than she appeared to be handling this one. For that Steve was thankful; as his success was dependant on hers then it was imperative that she did well. FOr his part, he behaved no differently, either, simply reviewing with her the file for the man they were tracking. His name, it said on the file, was Thor, and he watched as she cracked the smallest of smiles and spoke out of turn.  

“As in the Norse god of thunder?” she asked.  “Interesting.”

 _She really had to get her tongue in check_. The next time she opened her mouth to say something, he pressed his hand against her lips. She looked up at him in surprise and confusion.  

“Use this without permission once more and I’ll have you sucking my cock until you can’t feel your jaw any longer.  I don’t care who’s around us.  You have a role, kitten; learn it.” He pressed a little harder against her lips for emphasis  before he pulled his hand away.

“Yes, Master."

Good.  He brought her chin up to kiss her hard on the lips before releasing her and telling her to go sit down.  For the remainder of the flight she did well enough, he supposed, but he could only hope it’d be a quick mission. Her increasing defiance worried him, made him paranoid that she just might try to escape again.  Even though she allowed herself to be subdued each time after she’d had an outburst, as he was beginning to call them, the possibility and fear of her trying to run away, then him having to hunt her down and execute her according to protocol, weighed heavily on his mind. He wanted to bring her back to Stark and have him spend some time with her--either see what was going on, or beat the devilment out of her, whatever it took to ultimately bring her to heel.  She was his, and he didn’t want to lose her.  Subconsciously his hand moved to her collar where she was sitting beside him and held onto it tightly. 

“You’re mine,” he growled quietly when she looked over at him, her eyes a little confused and a smile tracing her lips as his words registered.  She bowed her head and slowly moved to rub his forearm with her head.   

“As you wish, Master.”   

* * *

They touched down a few hours after that, settled into the base that SHIELD had set up, and that very night they were sent to intercept Thor as he attempted to take back a few things that had been stolen from a woman he seemed to be involved with. Steve stood back and watched as Nat took the mountain of a man down without much problem. She simply goaded him until he charged blindly at her, then after wearing him down, she flipped him onto his back, straddled him, and smirked.  Steve couldn’t help the possessive coil that wrapped its way around his heart and stomach--and it was made worse because she didn’t have her fucking collar on.  It occurred to him, not for the the first time, that she needed something more permanent than that, something that would _always_ show everyone that she was his property.   

She’d moved off and away from Thor the moment other SHIELD members had moved in to detain him, and Steve and Nat were sent in to interrogate him soon after. During this part of the process, Nat was supposed to watch, observe how Steve did it, and actually say and do very little. He just hoped she realized that.  

Before they entered the interrogation room, Steve caught Nat by the hair and forced the collar back on her.  No way was she going back after this man without it; or, for that matter, after  any other man again.  It was simply too aggravating for Steve, not knowing just what was going through the other man’s head--or Nat’s, if she thought she was free.

As he tightened the collar, She looked back at him, eyes wide and confused, likely wondering what he was playing at, but he just patted her on the backside to get her going again.  With a quiet huff of surprise she pushed open the door, stepping inside and taking her place in one of the far corners of the room.

Thor looked rather worse for wear, the cuts and bruises on his face having already become swollen, but he still gazed at Nat with such intense blue eyes that even Steve had to stop for a moment and admire. He caught himself and tried to focus. _Well, then._ That just made things more awkward.  

“So.  Thor.”  Steve was the first to speak, though the man opposite him barely seemed to register his presence.  His eyes were fixed now on the collar, registering its presence now, and that made Steve smirk and slam the file down, hard, on the table surface.  Only then did Thor look over, his gaze more annoyed than anything else, as though Steve had just interrupted his favorite show.  “Wanna tell us what you’re doing here and what your plans are for our planet?  If your story is to be believed, that you’re actually a _Norse god_?” He emphasized the last two words, showing how little he believed in it.  “Then why the hell would you want to come here?”

“I did not intentionally come here.  You’d have known if I did; do I strike you as the sort of man who is subtle?” Thor asked with a confident laugh. Steve had to admit that he admired the man’s balls: he didn’t know anyone else who could go toe-to-toe with a Commander like himself and remain uncowed as this man did.

“So what happened to bring you here?" 

“I was cast out by my father. He sought to teach me a lesson about diplomacies and not blasting a bloody hole in a planet simply because I felt like it.  He’s trying to teach me humility and respect for other cultures... and I must say that yours is, well, fascinating.  Your women especially.  Here I’d thought you humans had abolished slavery but they’re so subservient.  It’s quite boring, to be honest. What pleasure is there in a bedmate and a battlemate who is not an equal?”

Here Steve could practically feel Natasha tense behind him, could feel the way that she bit her tongue to keep from snarking and telling Thor just how unsubservient she really was.  He felt as she squashed down the need to prove that she was strong and independent and instead--.

She yielded to Steve’s authority. _Good move, kitten._   

Steve grinned, and as a reward, he said to Thor,  “I’m not sure about that.  My Natasha has a mouth on her and a fighting spirit to rival even yours, and your strongest women.  Surely you would’ve realized that by how easily she took you down.”  

“She is very formidable,” Thor admitted with a slow smile that made Steve’s hackles rise.  “How is it that you two are so well-acquainted and you are so commanding?  Did she wrong you?”

“She was an acquisition, and I was given the delightful task of helping her _adapt_ to our organization.  An opportunity we would like to offer you.  I’ve seen you fight, saw you take down quite a few men before my kitten got to you.”

“Your kitten?  She is nothing like the tame cats I gave Freya.  I think she is likened more to a spider with how quick and deadly she is.  Lethal without looking the part.”  Thor grinned.  It was easy to see that he very much liked her and it made Steve want to deck him--and then, behind him, he heard Natasha give a small laugh.  Steve felt the surge of anger but fought it down as Thor continued. “Your kitten, as you so love to call her, is a dangerous weapon indeed, but I see not the reason why I should join up.  I have no love for your planet, though I mean no offense by it, and can see no benefit or perks to serving it.  Unless you’d be willing to offer something to sweeten the deal--then, I would consider your offer.”  He winked at Natasha.  Steve barely managed to keep himself from turning around to make sure she didn’t return the gesture.  

“What, you want me to throw my sub in there to sweeten the deal?” Steve asked, his tone sarcastic. “I suppose I’d think about it, but you’d have to give me more to work with than just _considering_ your offer. And that’s not much to go on, and certainly not worth sharing Agent Romanov with you--troublesome as she can be, I don’t give her up for just any fleeting promise... Thank you, Thor.”

“For what?”  The man (god? Natasha was still unclear on this) frowned.

“For proving how much of a waste of time this is.  Have a good evening.  Agent Coulson will be around to deal with you soon enough.”  He turned.  There was no point in trying to further negotiations if the bastard was going to be unbending on the subject.  “Kitten, come.” 

Wisely, Natasha didn’t argue, stepping out in front of him without so much as the quickest look back so Steve could walk behind her. Thor, too, was quiet as he watched the pair leave, his eyes on Natasha’s ass as she stepped out.  

Natasha wasn’t going to be able to sit down for a week once Steve got done with her.  

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha had assumed that SHIELD had sent Thor back to his home--planet? realm?--and so, two days later, when the knock on her door came, she’d opened it with the usual, ‘come hither’ look Steve liked her to have when he came to her. Interesting to know that it worked just as well on Thor; the giant of a man nearly tackled her there and then, his eyes dilating at the sight and adam’s apple bobbing. Still, with a visible effort, he held himself back.

“Natasha. Might I enter your chambers?”

“Ah.” _Shit_. Steve wouldn’t like this at all, but . . . well, at no point had he said that she wasn’t allowed to have company. Hell, like so many other things he’d never bothered to tell her, they’d never discussed how she was to interact with anyone outside Steve and Stark and Banner, so what was she supposed to do? “Okay. Quickly, though. Please.”

“Of course.” Thor smiled at her before stepping inside, and she hurriedly closed the door, feeling something resembling guilt settle in her stomach. That was strange; if she was doing nothing wrong, why did she feel this? Her attention focused back on Thor, who walked to the middle of her small room, and turned to smile at her. “I was wondering... about your Commander Roger’s offer. To throw you into the bargain if it meant you could add me to your team.”

_Hell._ “Yes?”

“Would you consent to it?”

Of all the things--what the hell? It threw her for a loop. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d been asked for her opinion or what she wanted; even before Steve and SHIELD had taken her, what she had wanted never mattered. She paused and sucked on her bottom lip, thinking hard. "Why do you care if I consent to it or not?” she asked, voice quiet and head tipping to the side as she surveyed him. He didn’t seem the type to give a damn whether or not someone was okay with it, and he looked almost as though he’d take what he wanted either way.

“Consent is our custom where I am from. And you’ve proven yourself more wily than I and for that you have my respect, and what is more if I was to accept we would be on the same team. I am not about to take what I want if it means I will jeopardize the team. Do not get me wrong: I wish you to say yes with every fiber of my being.” He stepped closer to her, and to her credit and pride, she didn’t back up. “But I will not do it without your say so.”

Nat wanted to say that it wasn’t her call, that he would have to legitimately ask Steve for what Thor wanted. She wanted to open the door and tell him to leave, to kick his ass out to the curb, but at the same time she wanted to kiss him hard and let him take her however he wanted--not just to assert her own autonomy, but also...

She could take one for the team, couldn’t she? After all, Steve _had_ been the one to first suggest it.

“You swear you’ll join up if I do this?” she asked, her eyes searching his for deception. She was damn good at reading it, nearly as good as she was creating it. “I’m not going to whore myself out just because you say a few pretty things but don’t make good on them.”

“I swear to you, Natasha, that I will join your band of fighters if you agree to this. If you do not, well, I will still make a decision, but I know less what it will be.”

Did she dare take the chance? They could use him, quite a bit, and the alliance with Asgard--wherever that was--would be good for SHIELD if someone else ever came along. It was a win-win situation, and again: it was Steve’s idea.

Swallowing hard, she thought over what Steve was likely to be doing. From what she knew, he’d be talking with Coulson for at least another hour, then calling Hill and Fury to double-check with them on what was going on. That was another half an hour.

_Plenty of time._

Her hands moved to the edges of her tank top and lifted it up by the hem, exposing her flat stomach and supple, bare breasts to the man in front of her. She watched him lick his lips, watched as his hands reached forward to cup them each in his large grip, and she sighed as he rubbed the nipples until they were hard under his calloused hands. She could swear she felt small sparks of lightning shooting from his fingertips to her skin.

He lifted her up easily, taking her hips in his wide hands as he brought her legs to wrap around his waist, his lips fastening to hers as he led her to the bed and slowly laid her out there. She managed to wrap her arms around his shoulders and bucked her hips into his. If that didn't indicate consent, then she didn’t know what would. The heady rush of saying _yes_ , of agreeing to something, and having him take her when _she_ wanted him to? Even if it was for a shitty reason, she couldn’t get over the thrill that laced her veins, the freedom and joy that came with it, nearly as strong as when Steve called her good--

_No_. Now was not the time to think of Steve. Thor, she had to think of him beneath her fingertips, his lips sucking on her clavicle as his hands undid and ripped her pants from her legs, then repeated the process on his own. pants She moaned and arched as one of his hands trailed lower, brushing up against the soft skin of her inner thigh before finding her clit and immediately getting on the right track, rubbing it slowly with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure and--

“Holy--Oh my God!” she exclaimed, absolutely certain this time that she’d felt a lick of lightning brush up against her skin,her clit responding by flooding her senses with an intense pleasure. He just laughed and pressed harder, making her keen and whine, and by the time he’d finally pressed his considerable length inside her she was sure the cosmos he came from was flashing behind her eyes as she stared up at him.

Though she urged him to be quick, she couldn’t help but be glad as he took his time, thrusting slowly so that he was sure to fill her to the brim each time, though he never could entirely fit, to her great frustration. How the hell was that even possible!? An inch or so of him remained unsheathed and though she and tried to relax to better accommodate him . . . well, there was only so much she could do. It didn’t stop her, however, from crying out as she came, nor him from following not long afterwards. He filled her in ways she didn’t think possible, warm come oozing out of her and making her whimper and shiver. When he pulled out of her she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk for awhile, though Thor was already rising to his feet and dressing. It was likely he, too, didn’t want to be caught, but he shared with her a bright smile that seemed to make everything seem all the better.

“Thank you, my lady. That was very much worth it. Please assure your Commander that I would be more than happy to join your team.”

“Sure. Any time.” She didn’t mean it, though--she was distracted by the sudden realization of what she’d done. It hit her like a bag of bricks to the face. Fuck. _Fuck._ She was so dead. Even though she’d finished the mission all by herself, even though she’d managed to get the bastard to see reason and join up, she knew all of that would pale in comparison to how Steve would react. She’d be lucky if she could get away with her ass in one piece--for all her stubborn, self-destructive rebellion, the knowledge of Steve’s certain fury had invoked fear within her. But too late.

There was barely time for her to clean herself and the rumpled bedding before Steve came to her. He looked exhausted, but rather than collapse on the bed as she’d expected, as he had in the past, he paused in the doorway. Natasha tried to appear unconcerned even as she watched his face slip into an unreadable mask. His eyes, unbelievably, alight on the one piece of incriminating evidence that remained--but that she didn't even think about until then.

Thor had left his belt on the chair beside the bed, where his pants had previously been, and for the remainder of the evening it kept Nat’s arms bound, tight, to the bed, or else it bit into the skin of her ass as he brought it down over and over and over again, his anger making him shake nearly as hard as the redhead beneath him, screaming through the gag as she attempted to tell him how sorry she was. Nothing made a difference--he simply made sure to make her sorrier.

* * *

First and foremost, Steve Rogers was a soldier, a commander, and so he finished the damn mission like the soldier he was, maintaining his professionalism and seeing it through to the very end. But he did not bother to hide the pleasure from his face when he saw Nat standing for the last days they were in New Mexico, her ass too sore for her to sit down. On the few occasions he could come up with a half-assed reason for her to sit, she would bite her bottom lip and shift as slowly as she could, legs shaking with the effort she put in to keeping all of her weight from her bottom. He hadn’t touched her since that night, not sexually, preferring instead to give her pain without the pleasure. She wanted to find someone else to get her kicks with, wanted to whore herself out just because “he’d suggested it?” Well, she’d be lucky if she ever got fucked again, let alone by him.

Fuck, he’d give her over to Stark for him to break her entirely, by any means necessary, if there wasn’t something about her that kept him holding on, though God dammit, he had no idea what it was.

He gritted his teeth every time he had to come anywhere near Thor during the remainder of the mission, though the god seemed to be unable to find anything wrong with what had happened. When Steve asked if it was the only reason that he’d joined the team--because no fucking way was that asshole getting Nat ever again--the thunder god laughed and twirled his now-reclaimed hammer, having accepted that he knew little about the world around him. “Of course not. I was going to join either way; I just wanted to fuck someone and she looked as though she would be amazing. I must say, my friend, she does not disappoint. What might I do to get another shot at her, or one like her, all to myself?”

“It’s not happening.”

“But--”

_“Never. Happening. Again.”_  

Thor frowned but said nothing else, able to read the finality in Steve’s words far better than Steve would’ve assumed. Thor had nodded and turned to walk away, shoulders drawn tight and the hand that held his damn hammer tightening. Steve watched as Nat grew closer and Thor attempted to engage her in a conversation, holding out a hand to stop her, but she pushed through it without a word, coming to a stop just beside Steve. One of his hands wrapped around her shoulders and he caught Thor’s eye with a smirk as the god looked back. _His_. She was all his.

The idea of tattooing her came back as strong as ever.

* * *

Fury was beyond ecstatic when he heard the news that Thor had decided to join SHIELD; he was frankly amazed at just how easily the Asgardian had caved. But Steve didn’t like the way the Director’s gaze turned appraising as he looked at Natasha, how there was a glimmer of something far more sinister than his usual shit, and it made his teeth grit as he tried not to demand knowledge of what the Director was thinking. He knew it wasn’t good, that was sure.

“So, we found Thor’s weakness and exploited it. I’m proud of you, Agent Romanov,” Fury said this with a wide, terrifying smile. Nat struggled to return it without pissing Steve off too much, an effort that wasn’t going too well for either of them.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Think you might be able to repeat that persuasion in the future?”

“No.” It wasn’t Nat’s voice that answered, but instead Steve’s as he stepped forward to glower at Fury, his mouth pulled in a thin line. He knew better than most the consequences of talking out of line when the Director was in a mood to be reckoned with, and judging by the way that Fury’s eyes flashed, Steve was pushing it. Not that it mattered, either way. This wasn't something from which he was going to back down.

“You wanna run that by me again, Commander?” Fury asked, his voice going icy and losing all pretense of favor.

“I said that no, she isn’t going to. She’s my bondswoman, I get the final say of what happens to her and what she does. Her fucking people for SHIELD? Not an option.”

“You’re also under my jurisdiction, soldier. And therefore, so is Agent Romanov.”  Fury's words was a kick to the gut, meant to stun the man back into submission. It didn’t work.

“Sir, you asked a question and I provided you with the answer. Natasha will give you the same one. Kitten.” He looked over at her just in time to see her avoiding his eyes. But she nodded, bending for once to what Steve wanted.

Fury glowered. “You should be following orders. These are my orders.”

“Sir, if it was anything else I might be. I likely would be. But not this time.”

“She’s a skilled agent and you’re holding her back.”

"And what were you doing when you gave her fake missions to start off with, right, sir? Because you believed she wasn’t entirely ready yet? How was that any different?”

“Stand down, commander.” The order was resolute and rang in Steve’s ears. Nat, meanwhile, had gone stock-still beside him, her eyes fixed but not seeing the floor beneath her. Dammit, Steve’s temper had gotten the better of him. He hadn’t meant for her to learn that, not sure how her pride of her self-worth would hold up after learning that her missions had been pretenses, but, well, it had been said and couldn’t be taken back. They’d have to move on.

Fury didn’t give a damn either way. “I can see this conversation is over. Rogers, you'd better think over your insubordination. Please return to your rooms. Both of you. Good work bringing Thor in to the team.” There was no congratulation in his tone, though, nothing but barely-repressed anger and disbelief threading through his words. Steve didn’t wait around for another word before he took Nat by the arm and pulled her from the room. That was that, he supposed.

Wishful thinking.

* * *

 

That evening he took her with a more specific goal in mind. She’d not been very responsive ealier, when they’d come back from the meeting with Fury. Perhaps she had been upset over the revelations he had inadvertanty spilled. Now, however, he kissed her hard, unwilling to allow her to emotionally retreat, and after a few minutes of relentlessly assaulting her mouth and neck, he plunged into her. She moaned and clenched around him, feeling her trying to milk his orgasm from him, but he refused. No, he was going to prove to her just how much she was his, and how much he hated sharing her with anyone else. Even Stark and Bruce. He bit down on her shoulder hard, loving how she whined and squirmed beneath him.

“Please, Master, I have to--.”

“You have to what?” he asked, smirking. “Tell me or you won’t get it.”

“Please can I come?” she begged, looking down at him with wide eyes. He chuckled and nuzzled her throat gently.

“Only if you tell me who owns you, kitten. Who’s your master?”

“You are.” The words were choked from her throat as he rammed into her harder, moaned as Steve sucked on her pulse point.

“I can’t hear you.”

“YOU ARE!” she finally cried, feeling her orgasm beginning to build, unwilling to relinquish it.

“Good girl. Now come for me, Natasha,” he purred, licking a stripe up her neck as his hips beat harder into hers. She whimpered and writhed as she clenched around him, body taut as she fought to keep breathing. Steve followed not long after. Later, after they’d cleaned up and Nat had passed out in his arms, he’d held her close to his body, examining every inch of it. She was all his.

* * *

 

The angry, impulsive words Steve had spoke to Fury didn’t leave Nat’s mind for some time. What had he meant that she’d been on training missions--controlled experiments? To think that she’d been played, likely monitored and watched over as she tried to work, to do her job, to prove herself? It was one thing to have Steve watch her fuck Stark, or fuck herself on Steve, but while she was working, she’d rather not. SHIELD's continued mistrust of her was a scalding burn on top of all the other indignities and violations she had endured.

She hadn’t, however, anticipated that Fury would come back to her after Steve had given him his absolute no. Until Fury approached her, she had thought that was the final word. She had learned from her past mistakes of disobeying him. At least she was sure she had.

"Agent Romanov?"

“Sir?”

“God, don’t call me that. Makes me feel like I’m in one of you and Rogers’ creepy pornos.” Fury laughed and she joined him, though her laughter was significantly muted, even forced. He stopped a moment later to watch her, surveying her with his one good eye as though trying to decipher exactly what was going on in her head. “You know it was nothing personal about the missions. I just need to test you to make sure that I won’t lose you too easily. That you’re strong enough to deal with the shit that we deal with, not only as an agent but given your new and current position as a--.”

“Slave?” she provided.

“Bondswoman," he corrected her. “But remember, just because I’m not slapping the shit out of you doesn’t mean you can talk out of turn.”

“Of course, Director,” she said, tipping her head down in diplomatic deference for a moment before looking back up at him. “If you don’t mind me asking, though, why did you come here?” she asked, voice quiet and confused. She knew she wasn’t supposed to talk out of turn, but at the same time he wasn’t acting like she’d expected him to. He was . . . well, he was much more relaxed than she’d seen him ever before, and he wasn’t yelling at her. Or about her. He wasn't threatening to kill her, either, like he had been in the beginning.

“I wanted to run my question by you again.”

“About sleeping around in order to get others to join the team?”

“Or whenever it becomes necessary to achieve the objectives of a mission. You want to be part of this team, don’t you? Want to make sure you pay back on Steve’s investment to bring you aboard instead of just killing you? Not to mention, I know that despite what was said earlier, there was more to what Steve thought. He wants you to be a success on this team.”

She was silent, biting her lip as she thought it over. Yes, she did want to be a success. If there was one thing she hated more than anything, it was debt. Perhaps that was why she submitted so easily to Steve now; he had put everything into perspective, and when it came down to the wire, and the plain fact was that she owed Steve almost everything. He’d saved her life by taking her under his command, and though she’d tried to fight against his control, he hadn’t given up on her. Others would have, she knew that for a fact. Fury probably would have. Even the Red Room would have.

Fury sensed her wavering. “Do it. _Agree._ You’ll be a valuable asset instead of a weapon we’re just waiting to backfire in our faces.” He paused to gauge her reaction, letting his words sink in. “If you’re worried about the consent of those who control you, well, they’re all for it. No one likes being on my shit-list. When you think about it, why wouldn’t they be? Whenever you’re successful, so are they. So is Rogers. It’s to his benefit, he knows that, for you to do this, especially after his last insubordination.” Fury’s gaze was hard, unyielding, and his words rang through her head. She didn’t want to be a burden, and if it helped the team--helped Steve--wasn’t that what Steve would want? And shouldn’t she think about what he wanted?

Not to mention, it sounded as though Fury had already asked him and gotten the consent, right? And Steve actually hadn’t gone nearly as ballistic as she had expected him to when he found out about her interlude with Thor. Perhaps this would be what they both needed, and maybe--just maybe--she could get the hell out of her indentured servitude .

Unlikely, but, it was a nice thought at least, and the one that finally tipped the scales.

“I’ll do it.”

“Always good to have my second yes of the day.” Fury’s grin was back. “You leave at 0800 tomorrow morning. See you there.”

She nodded once more in deference before he left, but unease plagued her still. Despite the Director’s assurances, she had to wonder, what was she getting herself into? 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't own anything, we did not create the awesomeness that is Avengers, and we certainly don't make money off of it.
> 
> Also, trigger warning: this chapter has some pretty intense moments. If you are uncomfortable with angry men or incipient domestic violence (although when is anything in Avengers land "domestic"), consider yourself warned. But if you feel brave enough to soldier through, the story will redeem itself. 
> 
> Maybe. :)

* * *

 

Steve hadn’t seen Natasha for some time, he realized when he came back from the training room.  She wasn’t in their rooms, the training room, or even with Stark, so where the hell was it she was hiding?  For a second he had the terrifying feeling of déjà vu, wondering if she’d taken off again. And when the loudspeaker overhead informed him that Fury expected im in his office, Steve felt himself begin to tremble with growing ange.   _Damn_ her!  They’d been doing so well, and now she’d thrown it all to hell and he’d have to clean up the fucking mess she made.  Again.  He stormed into Fury’s office, an apology and demand to chase after her mingling on his lips, when the Director held up a hand for silence.  

_Oh._

Confused, Steve stood in front of the man, waiting for him to finish with the piece of paper he was scribbling on before speaking.  “Sir?”

“You’re looking for Agent Romanov, aren’t you?”  Fury asked, one eyebrow arched as he looked up at Steve.  The Commander nodded, not sure he wanted to know how Fury had learned that.  

“She hasn’t run away again, has she, Sir?”

“No.  She went ahead for the next mission I wanted her on.  I thought it was time we give her a chance to take matters into her own hands and, as they call it, live or die by her own hand.”  Steve bristled at the implication that Nat was going to be following directions from someone else whowasn’t him, but it wasn’t the time to get into a pissing contest about his sub, he supposed.  He’d already pushed Fury’s limits far enough.

Without an outburst from Steve, Fury continued on: “She’ll be back in a couple days after she’s finished with her target.  Meanwhile, I’m sending you to Hong Kong for the time being; you’ll be taking on a man called the Mandarin with Stark. He’s not gained too much power just yet, but I don’t want to take the chance that he will.  Better safe than sorry.”

Of course Fury was sending him on another mission to keep his eyes and attention off of Nat, and if he knew Fury, he'd sent her halfway across the world from Hong Kong in order to ensure that Steve didn’t interfere.  The idea made him bristle, but he kept his mouth shut except to thank Fury for the opportunity to have Nat prove herself.

The man’s smile turned wry.  “She had a great many ideas of how to get to the target,” he said.  “You should be quite proud of her.”

Steve felt his stomach flop over at the look the Director was giving him.  They didn’t say much else, except that there was a gala that he and Stark had to be back for in forty-eight hours, and after that Steve was dismissed.  He was grateful for it; Fury’s head was starting to look quite similar to a punching bag.  

* * *

 

It took the predicted two days for Steve to see Natasha again, and by then he was chomping at the bit to be reunited with her. His anticipation wasn't helped by the inevitable delay, and so he arrived at the gala half an hour later than he was supposed to, straightening the tie on his military uniform as his blue eyes searching the crowd.  Where the hell was Nat?

Stark got his attention first, smirking as he sauntered over and fingered the lead to the collar wrapped around Bruce’s neck.  He had no qualms with showing off just how he liked to live his life--hell, he flaunted it every chance he got--and Bruce went along with it without so much as a moment’s hesitation.  

“Enjoying the party?” Stark asked with a grin as he wrapped one arm around Bruce’s waist.  

Steve grimaced. “You know how I am at these things.” He barely gave them the courtesy of his full attention, however, and Stark snorted.

“Relax, spangles. Your little kitten will be here soon enough. Fury’s probably debriefing her now. And anyway, I have something to keep you interested for a few minutes.” Stark grinned as Steve suddenly focused on him, all eyes and ears. “Remember that little discussion we had on our way back from the Mandarin?”

Steve remembered, alright. In the exhaustion that often came after a mission, he had relayed to Stark some of Nat’s recent rebellious behaviors, and the need to keep her in check. “I remember.”

“Well, I have something in my study. Consider it Romanov’s early Christmas gift from both of us. Follow me.”

 

* * *

Stark’s study was in lock-down mode to keep out any overly-curious revelers, but JARVIS let them in with only a “Good evening, Sirs. Come for a tete-a-tete?”

“Romanov’s not the only one who’s getting cheeky,” Stark muttered as he made his way over to his massive desk. There, he picked up two slim leather cases and passed them to Steve. “I worked them up after we got back--didn't take long. Based it on the prototype I used on Bruce.”

Steve opened the first case,  which contained a sleek, cylindrical, metallic device. Stark continued talking as Steve studied it.

“The design you gave me is in it, primed and ready to go.That’s the ‘brand’, if you will. More similar, actually, to a tattoo needle, but there are several components that make this a more permanent option than a tattoo. Tattoos can be removed, or it’s possible Romanov’s healing factor could erase it. The science behind this makes it truly permanent. Pretty straightforward, too--you just press this button at the top, give it five seconds to heat, position it where you want, and it injects into the skin.” Stark smirked. “A lot less time-consuming than a traditional tattoo.”

Steve closed the lid of the case. “Thanks, Stark--”

“Don’t talk just yet. Open the second case.”

Figuring Stark was simply looking for another way to show off, Steve humored him and opened it. This case contained an easily-recognizable, traditional-looking syringe, filled with a clear liquid. “What’s this?”

“A two-in-one, also one of my creations. Sterilizes the area of the skin and is a temporary sedative to boot. It’ll knock her out for a good half-hour, and then numb the pain afterwards for another two hours.”

“Why is that necessary?”

Stark grimaced. “I branded Bruce not long after I got him. And in hindsight, bad idea. Because this is an atypical tattooing device, it’s... _painful._ He very nearly hulked out on me, and the only reason why he didn’t was because he passed out--I think he almost _willed_ himself to, which was pretty impressive. So I developed this before I branded him again--”

“You branded your sub twice?” Steve interrupted.

“ Who said anything about just twice?” Stark smirked. “And you’ve seen him naked, so you should know. But anyway. Be sure to use this before you brand her, otherwise you could have a hell of a mess on your hands. She’s tough, but she’s no Hulk. God only knows how her body would react. Could get ugly.”

Steve carefully placed the cases back down on the desk. “Let’s go see if we can find her, then, shall we?”

 

 

* * *

 But Stark froze for half a second as his eyes fixed on something just behind Steve, but before the Commander could ask what was wrong the genius had turned to disappear into the crowd.  Left wondering, Steve turned instead to follow where his teammate’s eyes had been locked. Not that he got very far.  Steve couldn’t help but looking around again when he stepped back into the ballroom with Stark at his side, though the man was quickly moving away.  It was time to give another of his famous speeches, after all, he had told Steve with a wink and a nudge.  But Stark froze for half a second as his eyes fixed on something just behind Steve, but before the Commander could ask what was wrong the genius had turned to disappear into the crowd.  Left wondering, Steve turned instead to follow where his teammate’s eyes had been locked. Not that he got very far.  

“Commander Rogers.”  

Steve grimaced.  He hated being addressed by other agents, even more so when they were in a formal setting where he couldn’t be too rude.  Usually.  Tonight he might make an exception.  Instead he forced himself to adopt an uncomfortable smile as he turned towards the man who had approached him.  

“Agent--” _shit_.  “Sitwell.  Good to see you.”

The man grinned and clapped Steve on the shoulder, reaching up in order to get to Steve’s level.  “And you.  Look, I won’t take long because I know Stark’s about to go on and we all know how much he loves the sound of his own voice, but I wanted to say congratulations.”

“On?”

Sitwell laughed, squeezing Steve’s shoulder.  Steve wished he could pop the other man’s arm out of its socket.  “Agent Romanov.  She’s a real natural, I just got back from the mission with her and man, you should have her teaching classes on seduction.  To watch her work, well, the Turk was putty in her hands.  Nice job.”  He grinned once more before hearing the microphone click on, signaling that Tony was about to talk.  

It wasn’t until then, in his haste to glare over at Sitwell and demand an answer and just what the _hell_ he meant by Nat needing to teach a class on seduction that Steve saw her.  He didn’t know how he could’ve missed her.  The dress was a deep blue, so much so it nearly looked black, strapless and hugging each familiar curve of her body, but it wasn’t so much the formal wear that got his attention but the way she was running the back of her hand down the cheek of the man opposite her, her smile tender and eyes half lidded, gaze rapt in whatever the man was saying as though it was the most interesting thing.  Half a moment later he watched as Nat laughed at something the agent said, touching his shoulder now and dipping her body just close enough--.

He didn’t realize he was walking until he’d gotten close enough to grab her by the shoulder.  His vision went as red as her hair, and her eyes flew open as she caught sight of him.  

“Ste--Master,” she stammered, taken off guard for the first time since he’d had her, and he watched as she immediately pulled away from the agent she’d been coming onto not a moment before.  Her eyes swept to the ground but he didn’t care, no longer in the mood for the public display of submission.  He snarled something to the agent, who scampered away, before he grabbed Natasha by the wrist just tight enough to leave bruises as he dragged her towards the exit.  

“Please--let me explain what that just was--.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled.  “I don’t want to hear whatever the fuck you have to say so just keep your mouth _shut,_ Romanov.”  In the background, he could hear Stark giving the usual introduction, saying that he was happy to have them all there, and with all the crowd's attention diverted, no one noticed Steve and dragging Natasha out of the room and towards the study he had so recently vacated..  Stark’s invention had come just in time, it seemed.

All the while Nat kept quiet, her body trembling with fear and with something that felt like indignation based on the way she still had fire in her eyes when he turned back to glare.  He’d make damn sure to extinguish that fire.  

“What happened on your mission?”  he demanded as he walked at a fast clip, rounding the corner and whipping her along behind him.  

A moment’s silence, then: “I got sent in to infiltrate and grab information from the head of a mob based in Turkey.  The man was easy to get acquainted with, easy to seduce, and after I’d slept with him I--St-Steve, what’s wrong?”

He’d punched a hole in the wall, his anger getting the better of him.  Now Natahsa was trembling, her eyes wide and filled with  fear as her commander rounded on her.  “YOU DID _WHAT_?”

“B-but--.”

He didn’t wait to hear what she had to say.  His hand closed around her throat as he led her, backwards and lifted up so that her toes barely scratched the ground, into the study.  He couldn’t hear the pleas that she was trying to make with each pained breath she took, barely noticed how her nails bit at his hand as she struggled to make him let her go.  

“N-no, please,” she rasped, her gaze confused and begging.  He had half a mind to tighten his hand further, end her life and the suffering she seemed to constantly be putting him through.  She’d slept with another man, after he’d specifically said not to?  He gave another roar of fury before throwing her to the floor.  She landed with a dull thud and immediately backed up on her hands, trying to pull herself back to her feet but Steve was far too fast.  He reached down to grab her by the dress and ripped it away from her body, taking derisive pleasure in the way she yelled at him to stop, to leave her alone, that she was sorry--none of it mattered, and again he grabbed her by the throat.  He brought his lips to her throat, biting and marking her entire neck up, not pleased or pulling away until she had deep marks on either side of her neck.  Maybe he’d tattoo her there next.  

“You are _MINE,_ Natasha, and mine alone,” he snarled, lifting her up to his level.  She choked, but nodded, eyes pleading with him to let her go, relent.  She’d be good, she promised with her eyes, and listen to him and do whatever he wanted, but she just wanted to be let go.  

He obliged, letting her drop but taking advantage of her stunned weakness to maneuver her over to Stark’s desk. Without ceremony, he pushed her head down, leaning her forward so that her head, breasts, and stomach were pressed into the cool wood. With one arm, he held her in place, and with his free hand tore open the back of her dress and pushed it past her hips, his eyes fixing on the creamy expanse of her lower back. Then he reached for the first case Tony had given him. For a split second, his mind flitted to the warning Tony had given him, to give her the sedative first, but he was too far gone in his blinding fury to consider or care. He positioned the branding-tattoo over her flawless skin and pressed the button.

He didn’t think he’d ever heard anything as perfect as her scream when the needles and ink pushed through her skin. With one hand on her back he managed to hold her down as she thrashed beneath him. The only thing that sounded better was his own voice as he snarled invectives at her. "You deserve this, you little whore. If this is what I have to do to keep you from fucking every man that moves, to remind you that you're mine and only mine, I'll do it. Over and over again until it's obvious to the whole world that any man foolish enough to touch you without my permission will end up with one vital appendage less..."

Over the sound of his own voice, he could hear Natasha sobbing and chooking back screams as she beat her first ineffectually against the desk, trying to make her way through the pain. Steve remembered the painkiller, thought about it clearly, but couldn't bring himself to feel regret for not using it. Rather, he was grudgingly impressed--Natasha was still conscious, still fighting, stronger than even he and Stark had credited her for being. A brief second's thought flitted through his head--if she could take this much pain, how much more could she stand?

Once he was sure the initial shock had passed through her system, Steve released the tattoo gun and loet it fall to the desk. Hos hand moved instead to his fly and his trousers were down in a second and his cock, which had been hard since he’d dragged her into the room where he could have her all to his self, pressed against her ass.  

“You’d better get used to screaming, Natasha--you’re not getting any help from anything tonight,” he growled, the head of his cock pressed against her dry asshole.  She screamed and pleaded, asking him not to do it--begging him not to--when there was a voice just behind them.  

“Steve.  Stop.”  

Stark.  _Really?_ As if he had any right to say anything, and Steve was throughly prepared to ignore him. He was beginning to press in an inch just to hear Natasha shriek in pain at the burn, when he felt a hand, stronger than he’d expected, clench around his forearm and rip him away from Nat, who was left to sob and crumple on the floor, her body trembling.  Steve turned to face Bruce, whose eyes had gone green, and Stark just behind him glaring at the commander.

“That’s enough, Steve.  You’re going to make Bruce lose control.”  

“It’s none of your damn business--.”

Tony's sub struck Steve hard across the head, his fist somewhat bigger than normal, and Stark swore--a note of panic just tinging the edge of his voice--as he  demanded that Bruce stand down.  It took another half-second, another muttered swear word, and then Bruce slunk away to rejoin his master looking, far more drained than Steve would have thought possible.  

“Good boy,” Stark purred as he stroked Bruce’s hair, watching as the green tint to the man’s normally brown eyes disappeared and he went lax at the genius’ side.  “You’re fine, Natasha’s fine.  Go take a seat, though, and wait for me to finish.”  

“Yes, sir,” Bruce murmured and let himself be kissed before trudging away and nearly collapsing on the couch.  

Steve’s glare was venomous, but with Bruce there and so close to the edge he didn’t dare do anything.  Damn Stark for having a goddammed attack dog. Why the fuck should he care, anyway? “This isn’t any of your fucking business.”

“You left my party to strictly go against what I’d given you the damn brand for, it’s my business." Tony glared at Natasha for a moment, doing his best to hide his concern.  "Furthermore, Commander, you’re out of line, and as a fellow agent of Shield it’s my duty to make sure that you’re fit for your position and you don’t need to be relieved of certain duties. ”

Steve’s eyes narrowed.  No one was taking Natasha away from him.  No one.  Stark seemed to read the defiance, but as ever he just didn’t give a damn.  Instead he snapped his finger and demanded that Bruce lead, or carry, the still-crying Nat to his room.  

“Since you’ve clearly been compromised I’m going to take care of your sub until you get your shit together--.”

“Fuck you, Stark!  Banner, put her down, now, or I’ll--”

“You touch him and he’ll rip you limb from limb,” Stark said cooly, his gaze turning considerably darker as he watched his Commander fume and rage, all fire and fury. “And I swear to god I won't lift a finger to stop him. Stand _down,_ soldier.”

Natasha couldn’t bear to look at the man she’d once somewhat trusted as Bruce lifted her easily into his arms and, careful to avoid her still-burning lower back, brought her back to the safety of Stark’s room.  It wasn’t long after that that Stark ordered Jarvis to keep the room sealed off to everyone who wasn’t himself or Bruce, and left Steve alone to stew and rage and possibly commit extensive property damage.  

Stark could replace a study, or whatever else Steve decided to destroy, but Natasha would be somewhat harder to replicate, and Fury, damn his eye, would see the difference anyway.

And _dammit,_ Stark still had the damned party to wind down. Cursing the fates that had somehow made him a responsible Dom and master and friend--he shuddered as he considered this last word--he went to rejoin the party.

 

* * *

“Thank you...for stepping in, earlier.”

 

“Well, of course I had to do something.  She was going to bleed out all over my desk, wasn’t she?” Stark snapped irritably. Shaken though he was, he made no comment on the added fact that the Hulk had come perilously close to making an appearance; cruel though Stark was, he had no desire to cut Bruce down like that and remind him of the close-call. He knew better than anyone how much Bruce fought against that part of himself, how burdened he was with it.

It was much later that night; the party had finally dispersed. As soon as he had shooed the last agent out the door,Stark had gone to his room, where Bruce had taken Romanov. She was burrowed under a pile of comforters, a mostly-empty glass of scotch by the bed. Clearly, Bruce had taken his instructions to heart  and had taken good care of her, proving Stark’s assumption that the doctor knew better than just about anyone what he was doing--and what Romanov was experiencing.

But still--

“She can’t stay here.”

Not in a very long time--three years, if Stark wasn’t mistaken--had Bruce come so close to saying exactly what was on his mind. But now, he stood there, his sub was coming very, very close to just that. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, and desperately clenched his fists. Wisely, Stark divined that he was fighting anger, and anything that was enough to break past Bruce’s iron-hard control was worth listening to. Before Bruce could go any further, Stark made things easier.

“Speak your mind.”

“Sir--” Bruce started.  That was always a good plan, and Stark allowed himself a moment’s pride.  “She’s nowhere near ready to go back just yet. Rogers is still in a rage, and she’s nowhere near recovered. She’s _scared,_ scared and confused. And after what he did to her, well, she’s lucky she’s not in a lot more pain.  You saw what it did to me and he didn’t give her a damn drop of the solution you gave him.”

Stark stilled.   _Damn_ Steve, and _damn_ his temper. Still..struggling to find justification, he fired back. “What did she expect? She disobeyed him in a pretty serious way, got sexually involved when he told her not to. We can’t get involved.”

“But--”

She’s still his sub,” Stark reminded Bruce bluntly.  “As you are mine.  Should you really be arguing with me now? And is it our job to keep Rogers and his sub working well?”

“Yes.”

Stark nearly slapped him, but whereas Steve’s temper was quick, white-hot, explosive, Stark’s was somewhat more slow and measured. And so he was able to sense that--something in the way that Bruce kept talking, his words quick and nearly all meshing together, made him stop.  “It’s our job to protect her. She needs us right now--they both do. She needs our protection; Steve needs to be told what the hell he’s doing to her with that little stunt is the furthest thing from being what she deserves, especially when it’s Fury’s fault, not hers--.”

“Wait, what?”  Stark held up a hand to stop Bruce’s torrent,  and thankfully, the sub immediately obeyed.  “Who told you that?”  

“Natasha did--before she vomited her dinner and passed out. So I’ve got a good idea of what happened. You’d know it, too, if you’d bother coming to take a look at her. Even if she’s a bondswoman, she’s a human being, not some sick cow or worthless object; you need to start treating her like one.” 

Bruce was treading a very thin line now, voicing many of the objections that others had made over the years. But he didn’t seem to give a damn, and there was a fire about him that Stark hadn’t seen in some time.  It worried him--made him wonder if Natasha somehow managed to exert some sort of thrall over Bruce, making him lose sight of all the training Tony had put him through. But no--no way in hell would he let all that hard work go to waste, and anyway, even subs needed friends and a support system--asshole though he was, he had never denied Bruce that, any more than Tony would have held him back from his science. But still--with reservations, he motioned Bruce to continue.  

“If you’d just _liste_ n to what she has to say you might find out a different story than the one you think you know.  And while you’re at it--ask her how she feels about returning.”

Stark actually snorted at this.  Had Bruce lost his mind?  “How she feels ? It doesn’t matter how she _feels._  She doesn’t have one; she needs a Dom, that’s all."

This statement was too reductive by half, and both men knew it--but to his infinite credit, Bruce kept his mouth shut. The look he gave his master spoke all the words either of them needed

But as he exited the bedroom, Bruce entered one final plea on Natasha’s behalf. “Listen to her.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

After Bruce left, Stark spent a few moments looking at Natasha, curled up, fetal-position, in his bed. _Christ._

Her hair was rumpled and half-covered her face, but enough of her features were visible for Stark to make out the pallor of her skin, her swollen eyes, her thinning cheekbones. Even he could tell that she looked rough.

Nonetheless, he tried to go for a pragmatic approach, at least at first. “So, Natasha,” he  gritted out. “I know you’re feeling rough. But tomorrow, you’ll need to go back to Steve. This isn’t a halfway house--”

She sat up, wrapping the comforter around herself as she did. “Don’t.  Please, not yet.  Let me tell you what happened; maybe Steve will belie _ve_ you.”  Natasha said all of this very quickly, too quickly for it to be the confident Natasha he’d seen Steve bring in.  She didn’t look like her usual self, either.  The many times he’d caught sight of her she’d been on the edge of rebelling, always on that strange precipice between submission and defiance.  Now, well…she seemed shattered. He almost could say that this was coming close to cracking his heart.  If he had one, that was.   

Nonetheless, it was enough to tell him that perhaps his original approach wasn’t the best course of action.

Tony took a deep breath, looking down at his folded hands in his lap.  He waited, unsure exactly how the hell he was expected to handle this, unable to stop himself from feeling like a parent trying to sort out his children’s problems.  If only it was that easy; he’d just send them off to boarding school as Howard had done to him.  Alas, they were adults, and after all he’d done who was he to judge if Steve and Natasha wanted to act like kids?  

“Alright,” he finally said, looking up at her.  Wisely she kept her eyes down.  “Tell me what happened.”

Hesitantly, as though not quite able to trust Stark, she began, but now that she had someone to hear her out, as her story began to pick up steam, and so did her confidence. “After Steve went against what Fury wanted, the Director came to me. He said that he wanted me to help out, said that I’d be helping Steve, too. And he...seemed to say that he had brought Steve around to the idea, he said that my ‘superiors’ were on board...” She shook her head and tightened her arms folded across her chest.  “I should’ve asked him to bring Steve in but I didn’t think to.  I just . . . I just wanted to make him proud.  Wanted him to feel like I wasn’t going to be a waste on the team, or dead weight.  I wanted to prove that I could do it.”  Her voice shifted for a moment, turning so unsure and, _young_ that it nearly caught Stark short.  Here was a woman who he had seen disable a man with the flex of her little finger, one who he’d heard stories about on missions as someone who didn’t take shit from anyone and yet . . . and yet there she was, huddled under a pile of blankets, shaking, uncertain, confused.  

“So you went along with it,” Stark prompted, needing to hear the whole story.  Natasha’s head jerked up, as though ripped from a thought.  

“Yes.  I went along with it.  The mission went well; I got the man to give me the information that SHIELD needed, and Sitwell--sorry, Agent Sitwell,” she corrected quickly, not wanting any trouble with the Dom across from her,  “He told me I did a really good job when we got back and that I needed to get dressed to go to your party.  That’s all.  I found out there that Steve didn’t, well, obviously he didn’t know about Fury’s…game.  He pulled me into your study from the party and I thought he was going to . . . God, I shouldn’t be so damned  ashamed to say it,” she said, choking on a half sob as it wormed its way through her throat, the reality of her situation catching up to her.  “I’m a fucking sub--this is what I’m made for, right?  What you’ve been conditioning me for.”  She gave a shaky breath, pulling her hands up to her head, running them through her hair.  It was still tangled and knotted from the updo Steve had yanked it out of, and as it tumbled around her shoulders, certain realizations hit Stark like a bullet to the reactor in his chest.  

“You’ve been raped before.”  

She nodded, biting her bottom lip.  “It’s not exactly uncommon. You’ve seen my case file; how do you think they taught us?”  

“So why aren’t you just, I don’t know, immune to what happens?  Shouldn’t you just go into a different headspace or something, block it out?”  Hell, shouldn’t Steve be on the floor, his cock removed?  He’d have assumed that would’ve been Nat’s knee-jerk reaction.  

She didn’t answer him until he prompted her again, his hand coming to cup her chin and force her to look at him.  “I trusted him,” she finally murmured.  “Or I thought I did.  I thought I _could_ trust him.  That’s what that whole fucked-up relationship is about, right?  And being partners in SHIELD, on missions?  How can I trust him if he does that?”  

There was the crux of it, Stark supposed, and he pulled away from Nat to sit back in his seat, one leg folded ankle to knee as he watched her close her eyes tight.  Her hands moved to scratch at an already red patch on her shoulder that he hadn’t noticed.  It was a deep bite mark from where Steve must’ve gotten to her earlier.  She scratched at is as though she was trying to take the skin off, and the way she was going about it.  Surprising even himself, he reached out to take her hand in his, then dropped it as soon as he’d returned it to her lap.  No.  He didn’t do touchy-feely.  

“I don’t have an answer for that,” he admitted.  “But it’s not my conversation to have with you.  You’re an adult, and yeah the situation is seven kinds of fucked-up, but you need to work it out.”

“He won’t listen to me,” she cut in.  Stark had to stop himself from lashing out, knowing that she needed to recover, not get hurt further.  But his glare must’ve been enough because Natasha shrank away.  

“Then I’ll try and convince him to at least come and hear you out.  I can’t keep you here forever, Natasha.  You’ve gotta get through this one way or another, or it’s going to keep happening.”  He stood and, noticing how she had started shaking once again, let out a quiet sigh.   _Fine_.  “Tomorrow I’ll go to him and talk to him.”  He didn’t give her the option to dispute it, and to his pleasure she didn’t resist it.  Instead she thanked him, flicking her eyes up to look at him for a half a second before looking away.  He just tipped his head and made his way out.  Bruce was waiting in the sitting room, looking up the moment Stark walked in.  He was wise enough not to say anything, waiting until Tony sat in his usual armchair, surveying his sub.  

“She’s staying the night.  I’ll go to Steve and talk to him tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”  Bruce shot him a grateful smile that Tony didn’t return.  “I mean it, Tony.  Thank you.”

“Yeah.  Whatever.  Get me a scotch and the paddle?  I believe it has your name on it for talking out of turn.”  

If he’d have known Bruce would have had such a spring in his step as he faced his punishment he’d have talked to the girl a long time ago.  

 

* * *

 

Much, much later--after Stark had spent himself several times over, after Bruce’s unwilling grunts of pain and desperate pleas for relief had passed, the two men collapsed on Bruce’s bed, each exhausted in his own way. Usually, Stark was physically spent, and Bruce emotionally, but this night, it was actually the other way around.

Wearily, yet with the caution that he had long ago internalized when it came to making unsolicited gestures to his dom, Bruce reached for Tony. He could tell that the evening had taken its toll on him; every once in a great while, the terrible responsibility that came with being a dom--being _Bruce’s_ dom--became almost overpowering, leaving Stark feeling lost and vulnerable. On the nights when that happened, Bruce became the person who took care of Tony, offering through his embrace a simple acceptance of Tony’s need to inflict pain and control.

“You’re so good to me,” he whispered in Tony’s ear. “All along. Even in the beginning, you were so good to me. “

Tony couldn’t help but to shudder a little at these word of benediction; what had he ever done for Bruce to be entrusted to him so completely? But at the same time, he loathed feeling like this, and he’d be sure and make Bruce pay for it--another time, another night. Now, he simply listened to Bruce’s quiet words...

“I mean it, though.  Don’t give me that look,” Bruce teased, chancing an easy smile as he leaned over to kiss him on the lips.  Stark tsk’d quietly, yet but Bruce just chuckled.  “Even though you’re reserved and cut off from everyone else you know what’s best for me without me having to ask for it, you know what I can do and what I can’t, and you never push me too far even though you have every right to as my Dom.”

“Do you want to be pushed further?” Stark asked, curious.  He thought he’d done well but if Bruce was bringing it up, well, he was sure he could come up with something.  Ugh, but that involved work.  Enjoyable work, but work nonetheless.  And he had delved far enough into the psyches of others for one night. There needed to be a maximum daily limit for assholes like him.

“See, that right there,” Bruce said, gently stroking Tony’s reactor. “You _asked._ You always say subs don’t get a say, that we have to submit to whatever you decide, but you care enough about me to _still ask._  Not every master does. I’m sure Steve doesn’t.”

“It’s not required, unfortunately.” Stark yawned. If there was anything that put him to sleep faster than after-care, it was pillow talk. “Provided he doesn’t do permanent damage to her, Nat belongs to Steve for whatever he wants, to use or punish or control as he wants.  And Rogers doesn’t really think about what she wants or needs, because when has he ever learned--”

The words stopped as soon as they’d come to him.   _Steve had never been taught_.  He had no idea what was going on when it came to a dom and sub relationship--the responsibilities that came with every master--so how the hell could he expect to help Natasha adjust to her new position?  She’d rebelled so often that he’d looked at it only as a way to break her spirit, not to nurture a new one, one that would help her give in to Steve and  accept his will. He’d have to remember to mention it to Steve tomorrow.

His last thought before he slipped into sleep was rather simple. Just how the hell had he become a poster-child for healthy relationships between bondsmen and their owners?

 _Something else to punish Bruce for._ It had been a while since he had used the nipple clamps and chain...

And with this happy thought to accompany him, Stark finally slept.

 

 

* * *

 

All around, it was a rough night for all of them--Natasha tossed and turned, her body fighting off pain and inflammation and maybe even infection, her uneasy sleep tormented by shadowy men from past and present. Bruce and even Tony took turns checking in on her--although, not surprisingly, Bruce’s bedside manner far outstripped Tony’s--and Steve spent almost all of the hours reducing his guest room to shambles.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your goddamned business what I do and don’t do with her,” Steve snarled as Tony came to visit him the next day.  He’d had a rough night, the knuckles on both hands bruised and scabbed over from where he’d punched as many holes in the walls as he could.  

“It’s my business because you pissed my sub off, that’s why,” Stark snarked. He would have said plenty more, had Steve not cut him off right then.

“Well, maybe you should have better control over your sub.”

That was it.  All of Stark’s resolutions to stay relatively neutral, to pass back Nat to Steve after a good talking-to, all of it vanished. No one criticized Tony fucking Stark about how he treated his sub, particularly when the critic was an inexperienced dom with a hot temper and no clue about his responsibilities. “And maybe you should learn to control your temper.  Jesus, Rogers, look around you,” he said, eyes narrowed and pointing towards everything the man had broken in the past twelve or so hours. “Can’t you see what you’ve done?  Don’t you know what you did to _your_ sub? If you want her to be afraid of you--well you got your fucking wish.”  

“Good--she should be afraid of me.  Maybe she won’t sleep around so much,” he growled.  Stark gaped at him.  

“She was doing what Fury ordered her to.  You want to be pissed at someone?  Let me tell you something about this damn Director of ours.  Sit down.”  

Steve opened his mouth to object, to say that he didn’t take orders from anyone, but when Stark’s eyes burnt into his he reconsidered it.  Just this once.  He took a seat in one of the last remaining armchairs, though it creaked when he did, and Stark began to pace back and forth.  

“Fury brought up the idea of her sleeping with her targets because it had worked so well on Thor, right?”  

“That’s her story.”

“Well, he came back to her and implied that you’d come around to the idea.  He manipulated Natasha to believe she’d be helping you out, and he did it to get what he wanted because, well, he’s Nick Fucking Fury and he does as he pleases, and so Nat did what she had to in order to make you proud.  Or so she thought.  The fact that she divulged that much to me is astounding, but you?  She thought you’d be the one person who’d listen and believe her.  That’s what we do for our subs.  We listen to what they want, what they feel and think, and we look after them.  That includes making sure we save them from ourselves.”  How many times had he needed to remind himself of that with Bruce?  He let what he was saying sink in before continuing on.  “She did what she had to because she knew you were in the doghouse with Fury after what had happened with her.  She wanted to prove to Fury that she could do the job of an agent, that you’d trained her well enough, Rogers.  She was trying to save your ass because you royally pissed Fury off when you said no.”  His voice had turned cold as he said all this, one hand fisting on the collar he had been keeping in his pocket. He had stealthily removed it from Nat the night before, one of the times he had checked in on her as she slept. Now, he pulled it out and threw it at Steve.  “You think you deserve to be her Dom?  You fucking make it up to her.”

Steve didn’t say a thing, catching the collar and looking down at it.  For the briefest of moments he looked unsure, confused, and it took Stark even more off-guard he thought than anything else.  Stark sighed, his voice going a little quieter as he commanded Steve’s attention.  “All this while you and Shield have been training Natasha, but think on this Rogers: who the fuck has bothered to train you?”  

And with that bombshell he left it, turning on his heel and making his way to the door.  He paused, handle halfway turned, to look back.  “When you nut up and decide that you’re ready to act like a big boy and put on your big boy suit you come see me, till then Nat stays in my quarters with Bruce and me.  Got it?”  

* * *

 

Natasha got out of bed only at Bruce’s urging, the man assuring her that she needed to get up and it would help her feel better.  She wasn’t quite sure about that; her lower back still smarted when she moved, and more than that her heart was . . . well, it was heavy.  She wasn’t in love with Steve, god knew,  but all the same it felt like a part of her had been damaged, her trust shattered and destroyed just because she’d been, well, too stupid to think about checking in with Steve before she’d done anything.  

“It’s not your fault; Fury shouldn’t have done what he did.  How were you supposed to know?” Bruce tried to reason when Nat voiced her guilt to him.  His hand dropped onto her shoulder and pulled her closer so that he could press his lips to her forehead.  

“You two getting started without me?” Stark teased, coming in from having met with Steve.  Nat’s heart leapt at the sight of him, hoping he’d have some sort of news--some explanation, or perhaps an olive branch, or at least a reassurance.  He didn’t say a word, though, instead letting Bruce look up at and smile at him, before lowering his eyes out of respect.  Stark stepped closer to press his hand comfortingly against the side of his face.  Such a good boy.  

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir,” Bruce murmured, voice filled with a sort of heavy admiration and, could Nat really call that love?  Maybe.  She’d never known the emotion before so who was she to consider what it was or wasn’t?  The closest she’d known to love was . . . well, what Steve had done to her, and with her.  The thought was enough to push her back into the quagmire of her thoughts, drowning in the hopelessness that surged along with it.  Tony, to her great surprise, seemed to read it.  

“You’ve been cooped up for too long.  Even before the mission, Fury never let you go out or do enough.  Why don’t you try going for a walk or training?  That’ll put you in a better mood.”  

It wasn’t an order so she didn’t say anything at first, just shook her head.  She didn’t really feel like it, not then.  

Stark switched tactics almost immediately.  “Natasha, think about it.  What should you be doing?”

Sleeping.  Forgetting what a terrible person she was.  Trying to run away again.  No, she couldn’t do that. Even with all its current uncertainty, she liked life far too much to risk it on a plan that had failed so many times before.  She pushed those thoughts back, hid them in the back of her head and looked up quickly at Stark to flash him the fastest of smiles.  “The painkiller that you had developed for the tattoo process.  Will it still work?”

“I’m afraid not.  It has to be done before, or not at all.  Without the ink going in your system it doesn't react the same way—“

“Okay, can you get me about five ibuprofen, then?  I’m going to go work out.”  She might as well get back in the game. She still had so much more to prove, to Steve now more than anyone, with Stark and Bruce coming in close second, and she wouldn’t be proving anything without keeping herself in shape.

Tony nodded, and in a few minutes he came back with a few pills and a glass of water.  “Don’t forget to ice your back, too.  It’ll keep the swelling down,” he reminded her.  She nodded and leaned closer to press a kiss to his cheek gently before disappearing.

Beside him, Bruce stood up and kissed Tony’s other cheek. “I told you that you were a good Dom,” he murmured in Tony’s ear.  Stark reached over to grip at Bruce’s collar, holding him tight by it as a smile flitted across his lips.  He kissed his sub hard, cupping the side of his face.  

“Am I?  Good.  Get into bed then.”  He wanted to prove just how good of a Dom he could be.    

* * *

 

 

The training room was blessedly empty and dark when Natasha first walked in, smiling in spite of herself.  No matter what happened, no matter what had happened to her…what Steve had done, or the looks she’d have to put up with when others saw her lower back--because they would notice, how could they not?  He’d fucking _tattooed_ her--this place would always be her small sanctuary, a reprieve from being some asshole’s servant or slave or whatever it was they liked to think of her as. 

A shudder rippled up her spine at the memory of what he’d done to her, his hands so tight on her that she couldn’t have moved a muscle, the way he’d pressed his cock against her-

 _No._  If she thought about it she was going to dissolve back into hysterics and she needed to be strong.  She needed to pull it together.  With a loud huff of air, she grabbed a roll of tape so she could wrap it over her knuckles, not having nearly the same amount of callouses on them as . . . as some people did that she knew, and though any other night the pain might’ve reminded her that she was alive, she’d had her fill of the sensation for the next few months.

The punching bag she picked looked newer than the others. It hung sturdily from the ceiling and as she landed the first few punches to it, it took them like a champ, swinging only slightly.  Good.  She continued laying punches and kicks into the sentient object, imagining her Dom’s--Steve’s--face on it as she worked so that by the time it had fallen off its hook and bust open on the ground she could satisfy her need for revenge by pretending it was his over-large body beneath her.  She pressed her heel into the center, watching as more sand poured out.  She tasted blood from where she’d bit her cheek earlier, the wound having reopened as she’d worked, huffing and swearing while she’d laid into the bag, and pretended it was his on her lips.  It was no less than he deserved--.

“Am I in one piece or many, Natasha?”  

Her spine went rigid, responding out of habit so that she snapped into her usual at-attention pose, hand moving to clasp behind her back, legs spreading hip-length apart and chin pointing down, before she could stop herself.  Fuck.  To make up for her instinctive obedience, to assert her own will during this strange, in-between place, she answered with daring disrespect.

“Many, Steve.”  

It must’ve been a mark of his attitude shift, or so he was trying to show her, that he didn’t correct her.   _Good._  He didn’t deserve to after what he’d put her through.

She forced herself to relax and face him, actually face him.  His eyes met hers, and for the first time since they’d started this monstrosity of a forced relationship, she stared back, unflinchingly, and though her mind shouted at her to shy away, to look down and avert her gaze because she was going to get a hell of a beating if she didn’t, she wasn’t going to back down.  He’d stepped close enough to touch her by this point and as his hand reached for her arm she shied away, her eyes unsure as they watched him, unable to tell if he was going to beat her or do something else.  

He flinched when she stepped away from him, folding her arms protectively across her chest and crossing her legs together, a clear violation of everything he’d taught her, defiance written in every edge of her body and line on her face.  He found he missed that defiance a little, but he didn’t want her to look at him like that now, not when he was trying to make it up to her.  His eyes fixed on the place where her collar had been and swallowed hard before fishing in his pocket.  

“I realize I owe you a hell of an apology.  I didn’t realize what had happened, and I went off the handle when I thought that you’d intentionally been unfaithful.  It never crossed my mind that you’d been doing it under coercion or the idea that I wanted you to.  I should’ve realized that you wouldn’t do something like that.  Trust,” he allowed himself an embarrassed chuckle.  “Is a two way-street I’ve yet to walk down, it seems.  And I’m sorry, Natasha.”  

She was quiet for a moment, then shook her head, her red hair fluttering around her face.  “It’s not enough, Steve.  I don’t want to come back to you if you’re going to just say that you’re sorry about what happened and that you have to work on you trust . Jesus, Steve, you’re _dangerous._ I mean, you used to send me to Stark for punishment--and now I’m there because I feel _safer_ there. What the hell does that say about you and how you’ve been treating me? I may not have many rights, but I know I at least have the right to _live_ , and live without permanent damage being done to me . So I’m going to stay with Tony.”

His expression shifted, grew furious for the briefest of moments.  “You can’t.  You’re my sub, not his.”  

“Force me to come back with you and see what happens, Steve.”  

“Kitten--”

“Just stop it!” she shouted, cutting him off and sure that any minute she’d receive a slap across the face. _Fine._  It would just prove her point, that this man had no clue what he was doing.  He surprised her, though, blinking a couple times as he stood, stock-still, in front of her, looking very much like a soldier without an order.  “I’m not doing it, Steve.  Fury will reassign me if Stark talks to him, and Bruce will convince him to.  If you want me back, then you better prove that you deserve to have me back, that you know what you’re doing and you learned, because I’m not putting myself voluntarily in that position.”  She took a deep breath.  “It’s too dangerous. I’d rather be dead than go back to that, or back to you.  So you take me back, and I’ll run away, and when you come for me I’ll be damned if I don’t go down without a fight this time around.”  

She didn’t even wait for him to respond before she turned to walk away, not bothering to pull the hem of her shirt down lower over her back so the edges of the tattoo that were still bright red and puffy were hidden. Let him look at what he had done to her, and feel shame.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve had built his justly-earned reputation on many talents and characteristics--his strength and agility, of course; as well as his temper and arrogance. But two of his skills that others often overlooked--to their detriment--were his talents as a strategist and a tactician. He knew when to lose a battle, when to sound the retreat to tend to wounds and regroup, when and how best to win the war. So while he went away from the gym deeply disappointed--he _went away._ Hard though it was, it was a deliberate move on his part. He knew what he had to do to win back Nat’s trust and loyalty, and so, he made the conscious, grudging decision to respect her demands. It ran completely counter to what he knew, what he believed, counter to the dynamic he had worked very hard to compel Nat to bend to, but he knew it was necessary.

Not only was it necessary--he knew that it was _right._

Doing the right thing, it turned out, wasn’t exactly easy. No wonder SHIELD never bothered.

Suppressing a sigh, he turned and headed towards the Officers’ Canteen. Just because he couldn’t get drunk didn’t mean he couldn’t give it a damned good try.

* * *

 

“Jesus, Rogers, what the hell did that whiskey ever do to you?” 

Steve had the presence of mind to glance up from his half-empty glass, which he had been seriously contemplating for the past ten minutes, without taking a sip. Several hours had passed since he had made his way to the canteen, and the entire time he had stayed right where he was now--tucked away in a private corner--nursing down glass after glass of alcohol, waiting in vain for it to do something, _anything._

Of course, nothing had happened, except that more than a few agents had scurried past his table, eager to escape his notice and his legendary temper.

Maria Hill was not one of those agents. She was Steve’s superior, but even if she hadn’t been, she had never been in awe of him, never saw herself as less than his equal. Over the years, Steve had found this to be in turns annoying, frustrating, refreshing, and even impressive. Now she stood next to his table, gazing down at him with a faintly amused smile lurking on her lips. “You’re looking at that drink like it kicked your favorite puppy. Or maybe like it branded your favorite little slave without proper anesthetic.”

It was an indication of how chastened Steve was feeling that he didn’t even feel the usual surge of anger. “You heard, huh?”

“The intern in Archives heard, and he’s deaf.” Hill pulled over a chair and unceremoniously settled herself in. “Sorry to interrupt your work--sulking’s a hard business, I know--but I’m joining you, by the way. So’s Hana, who’s getting our drinks. And just so we’re clear, Hana’s _mine._ You don’t touch her without our permission.”

“Is this my punishment?” Steve asked rhetorically. The look she gave him was answer enough.

“Here’s your drink.”

Both Steve and Hill lifted their eyes to acknowledge the arrival of one could only be Hana, Hill’s sub. She was  _not_ what Steve had been expecting. She was small and slightly-built, scarcely hitting five feet, with a broad face, flat nose, almond-shaped eyes, and a timid mouth that didn't appear to be given to easy smiles. She flicked her eyes towards Steve for a moment, and then away, bringing them to rest on Hill as she passed her the glass of clear, lethal-looking fluid.

“Rogers, this is Hana Sakong. Formerly a North Korean analyst. My sub for the past eight years.”

Clearly, Hill expected him to say something. Protocol dictated that a sub was treated with the same respect their owner received--it was one of their few protections, and helped keep a sense of order in an admittedly morally dubious situation--so Steve settled with a slight nod and a “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” The old courtesies were rusty, but they still did the trick, judging by Hill’s satisfied nod and the slight relaxing of Hana’s defensive posture. Still, she avoided Steve’s eyes and focused back on Hill. “Is your drink alright, madam?”

“Perfect. Thank you...” Hill glanced at Steve. “Tell you what--go and get Steve a new drink, and you may as well order me another, too. This one will be gone by the time you get back.”

They watched her head back to the bar before Hill turned back to Steve. “We picked her up just outside of Pyongyang, during a covert mission. We had just torched an abandoned bunker--turned out it wasn’t abandoned. I acted without thinking, brought her back to SHIELD. She was so _young,_ it seemed back then--but then, so was I _._ She had training similar to your Natasha’s, but not nearly of the same caliber, so god only knows why they left her behind when they evacuated. She had second-degree burns over half of her body, and she was practically feral. For a long time I didn’t know if she would make it.”

“I haven’t seen her before,” Steve admitted, and he was surprised. Eight years, and while he had seen plenty of Hill’s other sub, the strapping Polish man named Michel, this was the first time he had seen Hana. 

“North Korea fucked her up plenty. She’s shy, has anxiety issues... She sticks to my offices and quarters, mostly. Every now and then, she’ll go in the field with me, and she does her work just fine. But she’s a damned genius analyst, that’s where her strengths are, and and she serves me well. I don’t push her.” 

“Why not?”

“Jesus christ, Steve, were you always this thick, or is this a new development?” Hill took a hefty gulp of her drink. “I may _own_ Hana, in every sense of the word, but she’s still a fucking human being. It’s a master’s job to know what limits to push, and know what ones to respect, and when. In a way, we have to know them better than they know themselves--and that means knowing _them,_ and not just who we want them to _become_. It’s part of our responsibility to them--yeah, we hold every power over them, and sometimes we have to remind them of that, but it also means that we have to know when to exert that power, and how _not_ to abuse it.” 

Shortly thereafter, Hana returned, bearing the requested drinks. She set Steve’s down in front of him, and as she did, he got a good look at the wasted, withered skin that ran from her jawline down her neck, disappearing under her shirt--no doubt the burn scars from the fire from years ago. Aware that he was staring, he directed his eyes back towards Hill--and found himself witness to another revelation. Hill drew Hana to her and ran her fingers lightly down Hana’s face; as though it was a cue, Hana leaned over obediently to Hill, who initiated one of the most greedy, intimate, and hungry kisses Steve had seen in a while. Hana responded with similar enthusiasm, even as she went still and submitted to Maria’s hands beginning to run over her body. Hill’s kiss deepened, became almost fierce in its fervor, but that only seemed to stoke Hana’s fire.

Finally, abruptly, Hill pulled away, and that was as close to discomposed as Steve had ever seen her. But her eyes burned like--

\--like Stark’s did, when he was around Bruce.

Thankfully, a piercing beep distracted them all a moment later. Hill glanced at her phone and groaned as she scrolled through the text.  “Never a night off.  You still sober, Rogers?”

“Ma’am?  Yes, I am.”  

“Good.  Mission assignment from Fury.  Looks like we’re heading out to San Francisco.” She looked over at her sub and pressed her lips to the girl’s--woman’s--forehead. “You’re coming too, Hana.”

“Yes, Madam.” Hana’s poker face was a marvel.

 _A mission._ Steve tried not to think about being so far away from Natasha during this tenuous time. “How long should it take?”

“San Francisco? Should be quick. Couple  of days, most likely.”

* * *

 

What was supposed to be a quick mission ended up being a week-long mess. From the very beginning, they sensed that it would be more complicated than they had originally thought: the RAID team members they were supposed to be taking down ended up having a proverbial shit-ton more agents to back them up than Hill and Rogers had prepared for.  It was at this point that Hana proved Hill’s description of her to be quite accurate. At the climax of their mission, as Hill and Rogers stormed in and took on the enemy, they provided a very useful distraction for Hana, who, with remarkable aplomb, infiltrated the base and began hacking into the system.

Steve and Hill were holding a group of about fifteen at bay, keeping them at a fair distance, when--

“We’re in. I’ve done an override on the security codes. I’m in the third-level control room.” Despite the near continuous noise of gunfire, Hana’s quiet voice came through with beautiful clarity on the comm-link, and Hill and Rogers caught each other’s eye. Time to head to the third level to get Hana--

Hill swore, and Steve focused sharply on her, just in time to see red blood quickly blossoming through her suit, near her shoulder. She’d been hit. To buy them some time, he detonated one of the mini-bombs their mole had planted earlier, and in the resulting confusion, the enemy temporarily scattered.

“Hill’s injured,” he reported into his comm-link. “Request a rendezvous at level three. We’ll be there in less than five.”

“Less than three,” Hill grunted. “Jesus, did you have to broadcast that? Hana’s going to lose her shit. We’ve got to get to her, _now.”_

“Hold it,” Steve said. “Your shoulder. How is it?”

Hill tore away the shirt from her shoulder, and Steve peered closer, answering his own question as he did. “Looks like a clean wound. Bleeding like a bitch, though.”

“It missed the arteries. I’ll live--” suddenly, Maria glanced up and her gaze sharpened. With a dexterity that was admirable, if not surprising, she tossed her gun to her uninjured hand, took aim near Steve’s head, and fired--

  
\--Dropping a man who had managed to get a little too close.

“Come on, Commander. Looks like we’re not the only ones that want a reunion.”

They retreated then, Hill providing offensive firepower while Steve blocked the return gunshots with his shield. With relative ease--and with Hill’s creative oaths peppering the atmosphere as the pain began to set in--they made their way to level three.

Hana saw them coming and rushed out of the control room--she gave Steve one pleading glance, and he knew enough to head over to the computer bank and resume the work that she had been doing. While his fingers mindlessly clacked and tapped on the keyboard--Tony had shown him some useful hacking techniques a while ago, and he had taken to it like it was crack--he kept a careful eye on the two females. It was amazing to see just how much Hana looked after Hill--quietly trying to staunch the bleeding, even though anyone could see from her wide eyes and pale features that she was valiantly fighting fear--not for the mission possibly going south, or evac not getting there in time, or the enemy possibly advancing, but fear for Maria Hill. It was almost as if the sub was more interested in helping the Dom, in providing for her, rather than the other way around.  

Whenever Steve had thought of the relationship between Doms and their subs, he had always assumed that the Doms were supposed to be the strong leaders, the ones forever in control of the situation, not the other way around.  That Hana was just as strong, if not stronger, than Hill at a moment like this was revelatory; it was, in fact, practically mind-boggling to see the hidden give-and-take nature that revealed itself to him the more he observed.  

And the more he observed the more he realized he wanted the same thing with Natasha, wanted her to look at him, and after him, how Hana looked at Maria. His chest ached with this sudden realization, and he swallowed down his emotions before turning back to the job at hand.  Right.  Work.  

And then the message came through on their comm-links; SHIELD had sent reinforcements in, and the base was under their control.

“Time to clear out,” Steve told them. “Medics are coming right now.”

In what felt like half a minute, between the final clicks of Steve shutting the computer program down, and Hana’s quiet murmurings to Hill about her arm, the medics were there, efficient and reassuring and very much focused on Hill. No one wanted to give the injured Deputy Director a cause to disapprove of them or their work.

Only one problem--Hana seemed rather unwilling to relinquish her care of Maria.

“Rogers.” Hill made a gesture from him to Hana, and he knew what she wanted. Gingerly, he made his way over to Hana and tugged on her arm, feeling her tiny bones and muscles resist. “Come on over here, Hana. She’ll be fine, but they need to take care of her.”

“Obey him, Hana,” Hill managed to order through gritted teeth. “ _Now.”_

And just like that, he felt Hana let go of her resistance. He guided her away from Hill, and for lack of any other useful way to distract or, god forbid, comfort her, Steve seized upon the only thing he could think of. “Agent, check the computers and our back-up programs that we were running. You’re the expert--make sure we got it all.”

It was possibly his smartest move of the day, judging by Hill’s look of gratitude--followed by another curse as one of the medics accidentally jostled her. “Jesus wept! Is it possible I’m gonna be worse by the time you fuckers are done with me?!”

In very little time, they had Hill loaded up on the stretcher, and began heading out of the control room towards the medic jet.

“Agent,” Steve said to Hana. “Time to go.”

She didn’t glance up from the keyboard. “I’ve got to finish the job."

Steve took a breath. The brief moment that he paused allowed him to muster forth the patience he knew was necessary. “The job’s done, Agent. You did fine work. It’s time to go.” This time, he put a little more force into his words, as Hill had done earlier, and it did the trick.

Wearily the two of them shuffled off, following Hill’s stretcher.

 

 

* * *

Once they were loaded into the jet, they were in the air very quickly, heading to SHIELD’s regional medical facilities. Steve conferred with the pilots for a moment, learning this, before he headed back to where Hill was laid out on her stretcher, Hana hovering right at hand.

Hill was talking to Hana in a quiet voice when Steve approached them. The sub was visibly shaking as she held onto Hill’s hand and closed her eyes, letting her Dom just rub her cheek gently.

“I’m fine, Hana.  Don’t worry about me.”

Hana said something unintelligible, sounding like Korean, and Hill gave a quiet laugh.  “Go sit down.  I need to speak with Steve.”

Against her better judgement, it seemed, she pulled away from the woman and, with one fleeting glance at Steve, stepped past him to sit down near the back of the jet.  Once seated, she pulled out a tablet from its case and started tapping furiously at the screen.  Hill caught Steve’s attention by beckoning him forward.  

“You both got the information we needed?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Hill’s eyes flashed a little and Steve felt his confidence shrink.  “Yes, Deputy-Director Hill, I got it all.  It’s already been uploaded to the SHIELD mainframe and Stark is analyzing it now.  He said he should be done with it by the time we reach Manhattan again.”

“Good.  Glad I didn’t get shot for nothing,” she said with a wry smirk.  Steve allowed himself a quiet chuckle.  

“Now, to more important matters.”  Hill sat up slowly, her face very serious as she watched him.  He felt as if he were being scrutinized, laid bare almost, and he swallowed hard as a feeling of insecurity flashed in his mind for the first time in years.  Decades, even.  Hill, he supposed, was just that good.  

“I can’t take care of Hana when I’m like this. The doctor said they’re keeping me at least a couple of days to recuperate, sending you two back to headquarters. That’s going to upset Hana, being separated from me when I'm injured. I can’t be what she needs right now--and after a mission like this she needs someone.  If it was Micha I would hand him off to one of the other women under me, but right now Hana needs a firm hand.  I want you to Dom for her tonight.”  Hill said all this very quietly, her eyes never leaving his, though he felt as though he ought to look down, or something.  “But know this, Steve: you break her in any way?  I’ll kill you myself, injury or not.”   

“Yes, ma’am.  I’ll be sure not to hurt her,” he said, feeling his gut sink.  He knew she’d made good on her threat if anything happened to her sub.  He’d have done the same if it was Nat.  Hill understood and nodded, taking his hand and shaking it with her uninjured one.  

“Good man.  Now, I’m gonna pass out because these damn meds are finally kicking in.  You and Hana have a little heart-to-heart.”  She shooed the commander away and he barely managed to suppress a smile...even as he wondered just how the hell he was supposed to dom for a shy, intoverted, possibly-damaged sub that he'd scarcely spoken with? Either Hill was giving him a chance to redeem himself...

Or hang himself.

 

 

 

* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

After returning to headquarters and being debriefed--he’d barely made it through the teleconference with Fury without baring his teeth and ripping the Director a new one--Steve finally allowed himself wind down from the mission.  He had a lot to think about, had learned much more than he’d thought possible, and as he reclined in a large, leather armchair  he tried to put it all into place.  He could admit that he wanted what Maria and Hana had, wanted it so badly his damned heart seemed to burn with longing. This, in and of itself, was surprising--up until recently, he had never thought much beyond the tactical benefits and sexual pleasures of Natasha being his slave. But the more he learned, the less the term _slave_ seemed strictly accurate. Legally, she was his bondswoman, and emotionally--she was his sub, and he was finally beginning to understand the duties and implications that went along with these two identities.

But it wasn’t exactly something he could figure out by himself.  He’d have to sit her down, actually talk to her--hell, when was the last time he’d done _that_?  It was all sex and punishment and missions and rewards with Natasha; he’d not taken the time to even consider that she, or he, might want something more, _need_ something more, could even be capable of something more.  

 _Dammit Rogers, you dumbass._  No wonder Natasha had wound up being so mistrustful and afraid of him, and where once that might’ve filled him with joy it only turned his blood to ice.

Well, there was nothing he could do for it at this moment--and in coincidental agreement, just then there was a quiet knock on the door.  He cleared his throat, knowing fully well who was there, and rose to greet Hana as she opened the door and stepped into the room, looking less than fully put-together.  Her black hair looked a bit of a mess, as though she hadn’t brushed it in some time, and dark circles of anxiety hung under her wary eyes.

Shooting her the best smile he could muster, he ushered her forward.  “Are you feeling a little better?

“No, sir.”

He found himself relieved by both the honesty of her response, and the manner of her addressing him-- _sir,_ she had called him, and he preferred she left it at that; he only ever wanted Natasha to call him “master.”   _Focus, Rogers,_ he scolded himself. Hill had been concerned for Hana, entrusted her to him. Now was the time to take care of Hana.

And lord, did she ever need help.  She was still trembling, her eyes flitting everywhere except directly at himnd unable to keep focuse. Leaning forward, he reached out to take her chin in his hand and tip it upwards.

“Give me three things you don’t want me to do.”  It was what he always seemed to go off of, a good defining line.  Depending on what she’d say, it would show him how he could most effectively Dom for her, what she was most afraid of, what he would know not to do. Better to ask and learn then, as opposed to learning through disastrous trial and error.

Hana inhaled shakily, her eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments, but there was no mistaking the look of gratitude.  “Caning, anal, and knife play.”

Easy enough. And perhaps enough to gain her trust, to show her he took her needs seriously. But still... “Are you afraid of me?”  

She didn’t answer immediately, and he could practically see her brain working the same way he was certain he could see Stark’s when he was confronted with a problem.  She weeded out every possible reaction, every answer and its potential result, debated just how much trouble she’d get in for lying or else what telling the truth would bring, depending on how she perceived him.  

“No.”

He could read the lie on lips, see it in the subtle shift of her shoulders as she braced herself. Without warning he reached up and grabbed her hair, fisting his hand in it so pain laced her skull.  Nothing too terrible.  "Excuse me?"

Her breath caught and stuttered, and her pupils dilated as she stared up at him.  Steve smirked, drawing from the remembered power at having another at his mercy, and shook her a little for emphasis.  “Don’t lie to me, Hana.  There’ll be hell to pay if you do.”

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes for a moment.  When she reopened he was glad to see they’d changed, shifted, showing she knew what game he was playing, what was expected of her, and as a sub of Maria Hill's, he knew Hana would rise to the occasion.  

“Sir, no, I’m not afraid of you.”  She seemed to relax, almost, even as he gripped her hair tighter and stood so that he towered over her short, lithe frame.  She bent as he brought her head backwards and sneered down at her.  

“You reek of fear, Hana.  Stink of it.  I’m curious what you’re afraid of, though: what I’ll do to you, or what you _want_ me to do to you?  You’ve never been with a man like me before, have you?”  he asked, caressing the side of her face that was scarred before slapping the other side.  She gave a quiet whimper and he ordered her to be silent.  Without so much as a scowl she followed the rule, though her eyes never left his, refusing to be submissive.  He’d always loved this little game, the one that he and Natasha had played: defiance and retribution, rebellion and punishment, and couldn’t have been more thrilled that Hana had been taught how to play, too.   

As suddenly as he had slapped her, he now kissed her, crashing his lips down onto hers with a brutal need. He felt her unresponsive mouth for just a moment, but as he swept his tongue along the seam of her lips, they parted and allowed his entrance. Given this inch, he took it as far as he wanted, feeling her mouth yield, feeling the tiniest of sighs escape as he fucked her mouth with his tongue. As he did, he ran his fingertips along the scars of her face--and felt her shudder a little.

He tore his mouth away from hers for a moment. “You like that?” he asked, pressing his hand to her cheek so she’d be in no doubt as to what he was referring to. “Or you don’t?” 

She shook her head just a little.  “That’s only for Madam,” she murmured and Steve understood. He kissed her other cheek as a sign of apology before he grasped her hand and led her back into his bedroom.  There he brought her to a stop in front of a spreader bar attached to the headboard of his bed.  He’d been meaning to try it on Nat, but as it was civilian-grade technology he hadn’t been sure if it would work.  Hana, he had decided, would be his guinea pig.  

“Strip.”  His voice was thick with the command and she took to it without any hesitation, hands finding the edges of her shirt and heaving it up,then removing the black, plain bra without preamble.  Where Nat made everything a show--and Steve heartily appreciated it--Hana was well-versed in doing things quickly and efficiently, which also had its merits.  No wonder Maria liked her.  She shucked her jeans off moments later and she stood, rather awkwardly, beside the bed, her eyes sneaking up to Steve’s every so often as she tried to determine what else to do now, that she’d fulfilled his order.  Preoccupied with his own undressing, he slipped his thin white t-shirt off his broad shoulders and stepped closer to her.  One hand on her shoulder, he pushed her back until the backs of her knees hit the bed and she sat down.  

“Lay down,” he ordered.  “And scoot to the near center of the bed.  Align yourself with the cuffs.”  

She obeyed without a single word, and he was amazed at her compliance.  Bruce had been the same way, he reflected, and though it always made getting his way all the more fun he . . . well, he missed Natasha’s fight, if he was honest.  It was one quality he’d always been so thankful she’d never entirely relinquished. For a time he had tried to dom it out of her, but after a while, it had somehow become less of something to eradicate, and more something to work with and employ in their dynamic. 

 _Jesus._ Again, his treacherous thoughts had drifted back to Natasha, and while a part of him enjoyed the memories and reflections, another part of him felt slightly abashed. Hill had asked this of him, had entrusted Hana to him, and Hana deserved his focus; it was the least he could do. Especially as the sub in question was currently on his bed, naked and still fearful. Her obedience didn’t mask that in the slightest.

Her trembling nearly shook the bed, and as he reached down to stroke the side of her face again, the unscarred side, he tried to calm her as best he could. “Try to breathe. You’re safe.  I’m not going to do anything you told me not to do.”  It was almost as important for her to remember as him.  He had permission to do this, he reminded himself as he stood over her, taking his pants and removing them slowly.   _Don’t chicken out now, Rogers. You won’t be doing anyone any favors. Hana needs this, and Maria trusts you with her._

And suddenly, especially in light of how things had transpired with Natasha, it became very important for Steve to prove that he could do this--that he could be a good Dom, a trustworthy Dom.

He seated himself on the bed, straddling her as he leaned over to bring her hands into the cuffs just above her head.  Her shivering had mostly subsided and with the final clicks of the restraints he watched her take one last deep breath and close her eyes.  When they opened again they fixed just above Steve, empty of fear and most everything else.  However, she was present, attentive--was waiting for direction, a perfect blank slate for him to craft a masterpiece on.  “Good girl, Hana,” he murmured, and as he carded one hand through her hair he trailed it down and grabbed her neck, tight.  “You're going to be my good girl while you’re here, right?”

“Yes, sir.”  

“I can't hear you,” he sing-songed, tightening his grip.  

“Yes, sir!”  she practically shouted it, voice cracking on the last word.  He grinned and leaned forward to take her bottom lip between his teeth, sucking hard on it so that she moaned.  The sound was a warning enough that she was far too complacent and comfortable.  After he shifted his hips so he could move her lower torso, he twisted her so his hand could be brought down on her ass, the sound ringing through the room. She shrieked a little, more in surprise than pain, but then when he struck her again, this time on the other cheek, there was more pain in her voice.

Steve leaned forward and brought his lips very close to her ear, his warm breaths making her shudder. “Does Maria do this to you?”

“No, sir,” she said quietly, her eyes flicking up to his for the briefest of moments.  He could read the fear in them and couldn’t stop himself from faltering.  

“Then what _does_ she do?”

Hana was quiet for a second, tongue ghosting over her lips as she clearly struggled for the words to say.  During the silence Steve sat back, hands absentmindedly trailing over her skin, amazed at how soft it was. As he waited and watched, he noticed that the scars on her face actually covered a large portion of that side of her body--he remembered Maria saying that her burns had been extensive.  Pain likely only reminded her of what she’d already been through in Pyongyang.  

“Madam is more partial to sensory play, and she prefers to keep Michel and myself in the dark.  Literally.”  Hana said quietly, closing her eyes slowly before opening them and locking them on one of the scarves he kept on the table beside his bed.  He smiled as he followed her gaze and shifted off of her to grab it.  

“Like this?” He asked, holding the fabric, deep blue and thick, taut between his hands.  Beneath him, Hana’s breath hitched.  

“Yes, sir.”  

 _Finally,_ he was getting somewhere, and with the confidence this realization brought him, he deftly knotted the scarf around her head, making sure it blotted out all light. Still, he took the added step of dimming the overhead lights. “Talk to me. What else?”

“Extremes.  Hots and colds, pleasure and pain mixed in. Nothing outright,” she clarified.  “Nothing resembling just pain.”

“Is there anything specifically you _want_ me to do to you? Or that you want to try?” Steve had never imagined he’d be having this kind of conversation with a sub--he was used to not giving a damn what they wanted--but he knew even then that he was learning something. Maybe it would help him win back Nat. Or, at the very least, it would keep Hill pleased--always a good career move.

The corners of Hana’s lips twitched quickly, as though an idea passed through her mind.  Steve caught it and couldn’t help but grinning, too.  That was more like it.  “Alright, I know that look.  Speak what’s on your mind, Hana.”  

“Well . . . this doesn’t leave you and I, right?” she asked, a little more concerned than she had been a moment ago.  “I don’t want Madam to think that I’m unhappy with her because I am--really, I am, I love her and--.”

“Hana, relax.  This is just you and I; whatever you want to tell Maria you can tell her.  I won’t say a word.”  Steve assured her, pressing his lips to her neck and biting gently at the soft skin.  She shuddered.

“Well, she’s not much for dirty talk,” Hana admitted, and it was as though not being able to see Steve made her a little bolder.  “And she always lets me . . . finish.  I don’t want you to let me. Not immediately.  Please.”  

His grin grew broader, though she wasn’t able to see it, and he thought hard on it.  Dirty talk he could do, and orgasm denial?  Nat knew he was a pro at that.  He pulled himself off of Hana, moving along to the closet to pick up a few more things; the cat o’ nine tails--not to beat her with, but just for stimulation--a small vibrator, and a bottle of flavored lube.  He hoped she liked strawberry.  This was going to be fun.  As he worked he heard Hana whine quietly, unable to see or feel him any more, and he hushed her.  

“Quiet, little girl,” he snapped and he could practically hear her heart give out with the nickname.  “I don’t want to hear a damn thing until you have my permission, so keep those pretty little lips shut.”

He took her silence as compliance, as indication that she understood and accepted, and with quiet steps he made his way towards her sprawled-out form.  Silently, he set the bottle down beside them on the bedstand and without warning, bent down to press his mouth to her center, making her hips buck and her breath catch in her throat as he swirled his tongue around her clit before positioning her legs so that they were pressed tightly together.  The vibrator he had decided on was tiny and remote controlled, which he held onto with the same hand.  Without warning he pressed the metal, now warm from where his hand had been clenching it, to the overly-sensitive bud and flicked the remote to the highest setting.  Hana cried out in surprise, straining at her bonds, and he turned it off without warning.  

“What’d I say about sounds?”  he demanded.  “Because if you can’t keep your fucking whore-mouth shut now how are you going to manage it when I ram my hard, thick cock into your pussy?”

She shuddered beneath him, apologizing breathlessly, as he turned the vibrator back on.  This time it was on low, Steve not wanting this to be over too quickly.  She wanted orgasm denial?  He could give her that, and fuck, he would love every minute of her beautifully imperfect body responding, begging for him to bring her off.  As the vibrator hummed quietly between her thighs, caught in place while she tightened her thighs, he grabbed the leather whip from where he’d put it on the bedside table and spread the strawberry lube over the handle portion.  This he stuck in front of her mouth.  “Open those gorgeous lips for me, Hana.  Suck this.  Hard.”  

She parted her lips without a moment's hesitation, taking the thin leather handle into her mouth and sighing a little as the flavor registered.  As a warning, he flicked the speed of the vibrator up once more, making her tremble and her hips wiggle, begging to gain more friction, more speed, more pleasure.  He denied it to her a moment later as he returned the speed to the lowest setting.  

“If you don’t learn how to keep quiet, little girl, I’ll give you something to scream about,” he threatened, words quiet as he let the tendrils of the whip leave his hand where he’d been holding it, draping over Hana’s breasts and making her shiver.  He paid more attention, now, as she sucked on the leather, determined to get every last drop of the lube off of it.  He only removed it once her face scrunched as the taste of leather permeated through the other tastes.

“Good girl,” he purred.  “Do you want a reward for being so good?” He ran a hand through her hair and with his other hand dragged the small leather whips over her smooth skin.  He loved watching the goosebumps rise while he worked, loved that she twitched and turned as she laid there, unsure where to expect more motion or pleasure, where to look for pain.  He gave her the lightest of taps with the whip, watching as her skin flared red and she gasped, but kept quiet aside from that.  He loved how quickly she learned.  

“Yes, please sir. Please, give me a reward.”  

It was his turn to feel the goosebumps rise on his skin as he felt her body respond to his when he leaned down to kiss her, loving how she tasted like strawberries, her hips bucking slightly against his, body relaxing as her lips let his mold to hers, let him take complete control, surrendering to his will.  He easily explored every crevice of her mouth, feeling her breath catch in her throat as he sucked on her bottom lip once more.  As his lips worked to settle her down, his hands dragged lazily over her body, tracing the lines left by the leather whip, pinching and rolling her nipples one at a time between his fingers so she whimpered underneath him.  He chided her with a soft slap against her breasts, one at a time, but she just bit her bottom lip rather than cry out against it.  She’d get there, he knew it.  As he trailed his fingers and kisses lower he could feel the constant hum of the vibrator between her legs, and one finger slipped down to press it harder against her clit.  She gasped but mouthed soundlessly as he alternated between putting pressure on the tiny machine and just leaving it there to tease her even more.  

Without much warning, he aligned their hips and pressed into her.  “Not a word, little girl.  Not a single--” he thrust in again.  “Word.  Not until I tell you.”

Her hands fisted in the sheets of the bed with the effort it took to keep quiet, her eyes screwed up tight as she bit the inside of her cheek.  Steve did his best to make it as difficult as possible for her to remain silent, angling his hips in _just_ the right way that he brushed up against the sweetest spot in her body each time. Not to mention the constant repositioning and thrusting kept the vibrator constantly alternating from being pressed _just right_ and jostling into a different position.  From the way she shifted and squirmed it had to have been driving her mad, but it just made Steve all the more resolved to keep up the good work. When he finally felt her beginning to tighten around him he pulled out completely, removing the vibrator as well.   

“You’re not getting off that easily, little girl,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her neck.

She actually moaned at this, much louder than any of her soft gasps or whimpers, and Steve bit her neck, hard, as he felt the noise travel through her body. “I told you to be silent, little girl. I know this--” he thrust back in, suddenly, with no warning, “makes you go crazy, and you want it so badly. But you don’t get to come until I think you’ve earned it.” He withdrew once more, and smiled with satisfaction as he watched her writhe, caught up in the throes of the lust that had claimed her. “Look at you,” he said, his voice almost mocking. “You’re practically begging for it. What would Maria say if she could see you now, acting like a little slut, just dying to be fucked senseless? You think she’d like that?”

She didn’t say anything, having learned from before to keep her mouth shut.  Steve couldn’t help but laugh.  “You can answer me, Hana.  I want to hear your voice when you tell me what your Madam thinks about your wanton behavior, the way you shake and scream when I impale you with my cock.”

“I-I think she’d be jealous, sir,” Hana stuttered, catching herself before she moaned too loudly.  “She’d want to participate as well, sir.  See how good you are at making her scream as well as me.”

“Yeah?”  Steve grinned at that.  Without her vision she couldn’t tell that he was going to flip her over until she was already on her stomach.  Her reminder to him that she didn’t like anal came back to him, and so as to not unnecessarily frighten her, he hoisted her hips up so that her pussy was pressed up right against his cock, the tip of it pressed right at her entrance.  

“Well, why don’t you make your Madam proud and show me how well she trained you to scream when you want something.  Now!” He barked when she hesitated for half a second.  

“Please, sir--please, please fuck me!  I’m begging you, please, I need you inside me so badly--I need you, please sir.”  Hana gasped, clenching her hands on the pillow where her head had been, nearly tearing the fabric open.  “Sir I’ll do anything you want, please just fuck me!”

Ahh, that was better.  “Then don’t keep quiet when I fuck you this time,” he ordered, pressing into her until he was wholly sheathed.  As ordered, she moaned loudly, back arching so her breasts brushed against the bed, her hips pressing hard against his.  

Although engulfed in the sensation of her wet pussy encasing his cock, Steve had enough presence of mind to haul her back up so that her weight was resting on her elbows, allowing her breasts to now dangle, free and accessible to his hands. As he began thrusting harder, he fondled her breasts. They were small, yes, fitting her little frame, but they fit well within his hands, and her nipples were actually rather large. And responsive,  he noted as he began to pluck and tug once more. Once they were hard and swollen, he twisted a little harder as he gave a particularly hard thrust, his cock now painfully swollen and desperate for release. Not as desperate as Hana, though. He chuckled in Hana’s ear as she cried out, half in pain, half in approaching ecstasy. “Please, sir, _please,_ do that again!”

And who was he to deny her?  He made her scream his title again before repeating the process.  This time he didn’t let up, constantly pulling and playing with her nipples as he fucked her harder and harder.  She was starting to tighten up around him again, moans growing louder and more frantic, but once more he pulled away.  This carried on until he’d lost track of how often he brought her to the edge and refused to let her go careening over it.  His own orgasm took him before too long, and he kept his hips pressed flush against hers as he filled her up, cock shuddering and spasming with the aftershocks of his orgasm.  Hana moaned beneath him, whimpering that he felt so good inside her.  

Steve just grinned, a plan blossoming.  “Hana, I think you’re sensitive and well trained enough for this. I want you to come without me touching you.”

“Wh-what?”  She turned her head slightly, though she couldn’t see him either way.  

“I want you to come on my command.  Understood?”

“I c-can’t,” she stuttered, half in disbelief and fear of what she was saying.  He brought his hand down on her bare ass  in a hard smack, then massaged the bright red skin so that she moaned.  

“I don’t want to hear that, little girl. You fight this and I _will_ cause you pain. I want to hear you moan the way you did when my cock was filling you up.   I want to hear you tell me how good you feel when you finally-- _finally_ \--get to come.  I want to watch your cheeks flush as your pleasure over takes you.  Imagine I’m back inside you again, stretching you out, filling you with my come until you can’t stand it anymore.  Imagine my hands are playing with your pretty nipples again.  I love how sensitive they are.”

She moaned and writhed beneath him, nearly coming undone by his words alone and the memories he kept pulling up.  

“Imagine your Madam is watching you.  You want to make her happy, don’t you? You want her to see you being a good little slave, worthy of all that she’s given you. You want her to see you caught up in lust, losing yourself, giving yourself up to us. Come for her.  Come for me, Hana.  Come. Now.”  

The words seemed to do the trick and Hana's body started to convulse, her body going taut and toes curling.  The keening noise was music to his ears, softer and yet infinitely more intense than her usual pleas and whimpers.  It was nearly perfect, and as he watched her ride out the rest of her orgasm he couldn’t help the weight that settled in his heart.  Once more, thoughts of Natasha had come to him.  

With a masterful effort, he focused on Hana again. “Good girl,” he purred as she came down, kissing her slowly as his hands removed the blindfold.  “You did so well, Hana. Maria will be so glad to know. You were amazing--on the field, and here too. She’s lucky to have you.” He had no idea where the words were coming from, but after having observed Hana and Maria together for the past week, he felt he knew them and their dynamic well enough to hazard a guess as to what Hana needed at this point.

There was no hiding the weight in his voice, however, and as Hana’s eyes began to adjust to the dim light in the room, she focused more on him. “Sir?”

He kissed her forehead gently and pulled himself off of her.  God, he wanted-- _needed--_ Natasha back.  “Nothing, don’t worry about it.  Go to sleep, little girl.” He smiled and squeezed her shoulder gently.  

As she relaxed, boneless and smiling in spite of herself, Steve stood slowly and made his way to the bathroom to take a shower and clear his head.  He had to get Natasha off of his mind or she was going to drive him insane.  


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

Two days later, Nat emerged from the gym after a particularly strenuous session. Stark and Bruce had taken a look at her back earlier that day and pronounced the tattoo suitably healed over--the pain was a distant memory, if not the fear associated with it--and so this had been her first day back in full motion. She was exhausted, sweaty, and even a little out of breath, and it felt _good._ Plus, she knew that several other agents in the gym had witnessed her performance and were eyeing her with respect--she would earn that where she could, on her own mettle, and not from whoever was her master.

It was after five by the time she got out of the gym, and the corridors of SHIELD were crowded with both agents and administrators, all of them focused on making the switch from work to off-work mode. But because of the nature of their job, the two modes were not that different, and the conversation that filled the halls wasn’t that different, either.

Natasha wasn’t paying too much attention--she may have been an indentured agent, but she was simply too preoccupied with the precariousness of her situation to give too much of a damn about her fellow agents. While time had lapsed since that terrible night with Steve, and while Bruce and even Stark were being very kind hosts, she knew that this couldn’t continue forever. She hadn’t heard anything from Steve since their confrontation in the gym--

It was at this point that the weird synchronicity of inner thoughts and outer dialogue coincided, and she became aware of the conversation between the agents closest to her.

“--Hill got injured, but at least it wasn’t too bad. Commander Rogers was there, so it could have been a lot worse.  As it is, she’ll only be out for a few days.”

“Yeah, sounds like it was a success. Superhacker Hana strikes again, too, it sounds like.”

“Hana! You mean Hill let her out?”

“Yeah, I think it was more in line with her expertise than Michel’s. And she did damned good, too, even after Hill got hit. You know how they are about each other, but sounds like she took it like a champ. And Hill had Rogers take Hana for a few days until she gets out of the med bay.”

“Hill let someone else even close to her sub?  Wow.  Hell of pain meds they must’ve given her.”  Here the two shared a quick laugh and a knowing smile.  Natasha ducked her head a little, lest they realize who was right behind them, but they didn't notice, only moved on to another topic.

But Natasha didn’t.

She'd heard about Hana before; after Hill had been kind enough to inform her about the nuances of her position at SHIELD, Natasha had done a little research about the woman and her two subs. Hana, it seemed, was whom Hill treated with the most exclusivity and even protectiveness. So what the hell was Steve doing with her? What did they mean ‘Hill had Rogers take Hana for a few days?’ But Natasha wasn’t a fool; she understood the power dynamics of SHIELD.

More than that, what was up with the disgust and disappointment tangling themselves in her stomach, entwining and trying to snake their way up her throat? It suddenly became so overwheming, she had to take a detour into the closest bathroom, not just to stop listening to the incessant chattering of the idiots near her, but because her stomach decided to empty itself into the toilet as soon as she'd pushed her way into a stall. 

Afterwards, she took a moment to compose herself, trying to swallow down her discomfort and rationalize things--her jealousy. Jealousy? Natasha Romanov didn't get jealous, not at all. It didn't have a place in her world, her job--hell, it shouldn't have even been in her damn vocabulary. As far as she could tell, she had no right, no place to be jealous, in either her old life or her new. And yet there it was, dammit all.

_Focus, Romanov. Get up and get your ass in gear._

She forced herself up, off her knees, wiping her mouth and straightening out her shirt. At least she hadn’t made a mess of herself. Breathing deep, she took another half a second before stepping out to see-- 

Well, if it wasn't the woman in question.

Hana was just walking in as Nat stepped out of the stall. She recognized the young woman from the pictures she had seen, could read her furtive and inherent shyness in her quick, spare movements. She glanced at Natasha and then froze, obviously recognizing her as well. After a moment's hesitation, she shot Nat a small, quick smile, one that set Natasha's stomach back to rolling and fighting to keep everything still inside it. For one rather brief moment of insanity, she wanted to seize Hana, demand to know what Steve had done to and with her, but the moment passed quickly enough. Completely aside from the fact that assaulting a fellow sub was tantamount to career suicide, Nat knew that Hana was not to be blamed. She and Natasha were in similar positions, after all; Natasha had no rational or fair reason to be angry at her fellow sub.

No. Truth be told, she wanted to pummel Steve into the ground. It wouldn't happen, on account of him being the Dom, of course, and having at least a good 120 pounds on her. But after all he'd put her through and then _this_? Was it because Hana was a better sub? What had Hana done that drew Steve to her? She watched the way the woman stepped through the room, head bowed and posture non-threatening and yet sturdy, formidable. She might not have been a natural sub but she was damn well  _trying,_ but Nat?

Nat never would be. She'd never be able to conform that way, never be able to act the same as Hana, and maybe that was what Steve wanted. With a faint smile at Hana that twisted at her gut, she dipped her head down and made her way back to the training room. She needed another round.

 

* * *

Another ninety minutes in the gym, as it turned out, simply wasn’t enough.

Nat knew the second she stepped into Stark’s quarters, and saw both Bruce and Stark look over at her, that the two of them had been discussing the situation.  Yet _another_ reminder of how precarious everything was, and that, followed closely by the knowledge of Steve and Hana, was enough to put her on the defensive.

Dinner was a tense affair.

"Natasha, _what_ is your problem?" Stark finally asked when Nat slammed down the glass from which she had been drinking. The glass had cracked, so she had obviously been rougher than she'd meant to be. 

"Nothing, sir," she murmured, not meeting his eyes. 

She flicked her eyes up just quick enough to see his eyes narrow. _Shit._ Now she was in for it. Throughout her stay, Stark had been remarkably--restrained, for lack of a better word, as though he understood her confusions and had no desire to add to them. But it appeared that his patience--not something for which he was well-known--had hit its limits. She saw Bruce’s eyes widen in apprehension.

"Natasha." Stark said, voice quiet. "Do you need a reminder of who you're with? I don't want any of your cheek."

"Yes, sir. Understood." She said this in an unusually deferential tone, trying to take her attitude down a notch. Or seven.

He didn't say anything in response but she felt his eyes on her as she finished eating before either one of them.

"Might I be excused, sir?" she asked, trying to look demurely up at him. It didn't work.

"No. Bruce, clear the table. Natasha, help him."

Without another word the two got to work, Nat feeling her heart speed up. She was _so_ in for it, but what the hell was he getting at? Not ten minutes later, the dishes in the sink and leftovers in the fridge, Tony ordered them both back. He'd come up with a long length of rope, and was eyeing Nat as if he couldn't decide what to do with her.

Of course, he knew what to do with her. This much was evident with his next words. 

"Strip. Bend over the side, face first," he growled to Natasha, who nodded and immediately got to work. Her fingers trembled, making her take too long to undo her blouse. Tony looked at Bruce, who understood without question and stepped forward to help. 

"Rip it." Tony ordered. Bruce smiled in spite of himself and pulled the two sides apart, his body involuntarily reacting to the sound of the fabric splitting and her buttons going everywhere. None of them so much as commented on Nat’s tattoo as she was forced to turn around.

Stark made a gesture, and once more, Bruce understood, and began to help Natasha shimmy out of her jeans. Stark nodded with approval as he watched Natasha laid bare before him--she'd long since learned not to wear panties.

"Now lay down," Stark ordered, "there on the table."

The table was cold and made her nipples immediately hard, and she hissed in spite of herself as she sensed Bruce move behind her, spread her legs wide, and tie them to the legs of the table. They had bent her over so that she was laid cross the narrow part of the table, her head on the edge of one side, her ass exposed over the edge of the other side. Tony's cock, which was already out an hard, was right on her mouth's level. She practically salivated. Meanwhile, Bruce pressed his cock to her backside, hard and long and nothing she'd been able to enjoy before. But judging from the way he only brushed and teased against her skin, she wasn't about to experience it yet.

"You need an attitude adjustment." Stark growled when Nat looked up. "Now, open up prettily for me, Natasha."

She did, her pink lips parting after she wetted them. Stark nearly moaned at how pornographic that was, and when he pressed into her mouth, he swore he could practically hear the blood rushing from one head to the other. As he pushed deeper, urging her to relax her mouth and throat, he motioned for Bruce to kneel behind her. The sub did, his mouth immediately going to Natasha’s center as he probed it with his tongue, getting her wetter than she already was.  

She was in for a long night.  

Nat wasn’t about to complain, however--not that she could, moaning around Stark’s cock and doing her very best not to come without permission, but _damn,_ Bruce was good with his tongue.  Lots of experience with Tony, she supposed, but became distracted as he flicked her clit, so very lightly, with the tip of his tongue. She had to curl her hands into fists and focus on the pain of her nails biting into her palms in order to stop from coming there and then.  As Bruce worked her pussy and her asshole over with his tongue, Stark thrust shallowly into her mouth, always letting her adjust to the rhythm and how deep he was going.  As if he was worried she wouldn’t be able to take it all, when she’d done so much worse.  She tried not to smirk at the idea, but the corners of her lips twisted upwards slightly and Stark took her by the hair.  

“Enjoying something, Natasha?”  He removed himself from her mouth.  

“I always enjoy you fucking my mouth, sir,” she murmured as she looked up.  Stark’s eyes narrowed as he smiled in pleasure at her answer.  

“God, you’re getting so good, Natasha,” he said as he shoved himself back into her mouth.  But just a moment later, he pulled out once more and stepped out of her line of vision. The sound of his hand making contact with her ass, and the sharp sting that followed jolted her out of thinking she’d gotten away with it.  “But your skills at lying seem to be diminishing.  Good effort, though.”  He paused.  “Bruce, grab me the crop and the rope from the bedroom, please.”  

Bruce rose smoothly from his knees and left, making Nat give the quietest of disappointed moans.  But she didn’t want him to go!  Again, Stark’s hand hit her ass, this time harder and making her squeak in surprise and pain.  God, she had forgotten that for Stark, genuine pain was genuine pleasure.

“Quiet, Natasha.  I don’t want to hear anything from you unless I say so.”  He moved back to her face and without warning, thrust his cock back into her mouth, this time setting a deep and brutal pace. Natasha kept her focus on making his body rigid, watching as his hands tensed at his sides before burying in her red hair.  She hollowed her cheeks to suck as hard as she could, thinking if she could at least bring him off quickly she’d escape most of the punishment, but Bruce’s soft footsteps coming up behind her told her that there was no chance of that. 

Bruce set down crop and rope beside Natasha's prone, restrained form, and with a steady hand Stark picked up the former and brought it down, without warning, on Natasha’s already-inflamed ass.  She tensed, which only made the pain spike a little more, and after another half a moment, Stark brought it down on her backside again, this time closer to the thigh.  He didn’t stop, even as Bruce knelt in front of Nat to pick up where he’d left off, tongue nudging past the ring of muscle into Nat’s asshole, and though she was on the verge of sobbing with pleasure she managed to stay quiet.  Barely.  Finally, when her jaw aching and eyes cloudy with the tears she refused to shed, Stark pulled out of her mouth and away from her. She didn’t think he was ready, but on instinct she opened her mouth and closed her eyes, sure that any minute his come would hit her in the face.  

His laughter was all she got.  

“Oh, I’m nowhere near done with you yet, Natasha.  Bruce, help me flip her to her side?”

Between the two of them, they shifted Nat onto her left side, Stark altering how she was tied so that he held her hands behind her back, pulling tight on the appendages as he slowly sunk himself into her mostly stretched asshole.  The burn and stretch filled Natasha’s senses, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop from reacting, arching her back  so far that she thought it might break if she was bent any further.  Not half a minute later and she felt Bruce nudging at her other entrance.  Her eyes snapped open to look down, seeing the pair of them holding her still, Tony with his hand wrapped around her newly freed ankle as he angled her wider, allowing Bruce to sink into her without so much as a hitch.  

“I want to hear you now, Natasha,” Tony said, voice a low rumble as he started to pull out, then slammed back in.  Bruce gave a quiet moan as well, feeling his lover pressing hard against him, through Natasha's body, and Stark tipped the man’s chin up so he could press a wet, filthy kiss to his lips.  If that wasn’t enough to set the flame in Nat’s belly to high she didn’t know what was, and in response to his demand as well as the way the two fucked her in near perfect tandem, she let go of a shaky moan she’d done her best to keep internalized until then. 

“God, Sir--you feel so good, oh God, please don’t stop,” she begged, feeling him tug once more on the rope as Bruce shoved particularly hard into her, the head of his cock nudging her g-spot.  One of Stark’s hands wormed around and pressed a finger to her clit.  It was enough to set her off, screeching as she bucked her hips against theirs as best she could, trying to find the best possible rhythm so that the pleasure never stopped.  

Bruce didn’t last long after that, unused to the extensive friction and the warm heat wrapped around his cock at the same time, and the way Tony fondled his balls wasn’t exactly helping, either.  When he finished he pulled away at Tony’s command and moved his mouth back to Natasha’s cunt, where he all but sucked his own come out of her, making her keen and buck as her second orgasm overtook her, bringing Tony along with it this time.

When Tony came down,  he pulled away to admire his handiwork: both of his subs, albeit one only temporary, looking up and over at him with glazed eyes and wide grins that mirrored his own.  

“Good work you two,” he murmured, bringing Bruce up to his feet to kiss him first, loving the taste of his two favorite subs at the same time.  “Bruce, untie Natasha and bring her to bed with us.”  

“Yes, sir,” Bruce murmured, sneaking a quick smile in before he turned to undo the bindings.  Stark, meanwhile, moved to collapse in his bedroom, joined soon by the two warm bodies on either side of him.  He allowed Bruce to wrap his arms around his middle, protecting Tony’s back with his own as he curled around him, and Natasha fit perfectly in Tony’s arms, her small body soft and warm in all the right places.  God, he was a lucky man.  There was something to be said for temporarily sheltering other subs. 

Few would have guessed it, but Tony had very deliberately played out the evening's events and taken care of Natasha the best--and only--way he really knew how. He had sensed Natasha's unhappines the moment she had stepped through the door, and in her own little fucked-up way, the woman had twisted her way into his rough affections. Domming her had been his way to bring her to a safe place and stable headspace--and after all, wasn't that why she was there with them now?

He heard a gentle huff, and knew that Bruce wasn't fooled--he knew Tony and his ways better than anyone. 

_God,_ he was a lucky man.

 

* * *

 


	9. Chapter 9

A full week had passed by the time that Steve finally got the damned lesson through his skull.

His hand was heavy as he knocked on Stark’s door, and as he did, he noted with some confusion that it felt as though nerves were twisting the contents of his stomach into a pulp.  He forced himself to breathe, to focus on what the plan and nothing else, not the many ways in which things could go wrong, not the way he knew Stark would smirk at him with self-righteous satisfaction, or how Bruce would overreact and try to protect Natasha--.

The door opened to reveal Stark, staring out at him. "Steven. Good to see you again.  What can I help you with?”

 _Why the hell do you think I'm here, asshole?_ Steve gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain amiable. “I’d like to see Natasha if that’s alright with you and Bruce.” 

There was a pause in which Stark’s eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead, but then, seeing Steve was serious, he scrutinized the soldier, took in his bearing--not nearly as puffed-up as normal--and the air of slight tension and hesitancy.  Steve could practically see Stark's thoughts whirling through his head, sensed him wondering who the hell had talked Steve into actually tapping into those once legendary manners that men of the forties were supposed to have.   

Finally, “Sure.  Step into my office,” Stark said with an easy smirk, covering up his moment’s hesitation as he beckoned Steve to follow.  Stark led Steve into the kitchen, where Bruce and Nat were both working on dinner, their low voices and the sound of their cooking a surprisingly domestic sound that Steve never would have expected. 

Almost as soon as Steve stepped into the room,  Nat turned and her whole body went rigid. Without even seeing him, she could sense him--probably she remembered and recognized his cologne, then.  Good; at least she hadn’t entirely forgotten who he was and how close they’d been judging by the way her cheeks flushed for a moment.  Once, after one particularly long mission she’d confessed to him that she’d spilled some of the expensive liquid over the sheets so that it still smelled like him when he was gone.  He’d kissed her deeply and rewarded her well that evening for how sweet she’d been, how good and--.   

If he kept thinking that way he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself from taking her right there and then, bent over the counter next to the vegetables she had been prepping, Stark and his guard-dog be damned.  He chanced a smile instead, and turned to Bruce and Stark. "Do you mind if I borrowed Natasha and maybe spoke with her in the other room?"

Incredibly, Stark remained silent. Even more incredibly, Stark looked to Bruce, who was the one who spoke. "Natasha's the one you have to ask."

Upon hearing her name uttered, Natasha straightened up and then glanced down at the knife she clutched in her hand. It would have been comical--in fact, Steve nearly laughed, out of nervous tension--if it weren't such a sad commentary on the trust he still had to regain. But finally, Natasha deliberately set the knife down on the counter, and Steve allowed himself a moment's relief. He's seen the damage she could inflict with a dull blade, so what the hell could she do with a sharp one if she didn't like what he had to say? 

No more time to think on that; Natasha had taken the initiative and was walking out of the kitchen, her head held high, not glancing back to see if Steve was following. He knew better than to hesitate, and so followed in her wake--but not before he caught a strange glimmer in Stark's eye--one that looked similar to one he had seen in Maria Hill's.

Alone in the living room, Natasha turned to face him, her face betraying nothing.

"Would you mind sitting down?" he asked, gesturing to the couch. Slowly, but with obvious deliberation, she sat, and watched as Steve came to stand opposite of her. He wetted his lips and cleared his throat.  Where had his words gone?

“You look happy.”

“They’re good hosts,” she said simply, neither confirming nor denying his statement. "They've been kind to me." Her eyes did not meet his as she said this, and he doubted it was out of the respect that he had tried to instill in her, but rather a lack of a desire to look at him.  Realizing this made his stomach bottom out.  

Still, he forged forward, and because he was not a coward, he tackled the most problematic subject first. “How’s your back doing?” 

“Better." Natasha assessed him for a moment, as though trying to see if he sincerely gave a damn. And then, not caring, she plunged on. No need to spare him from his own mess. "I got a bit of a fever the first not, but my body fought off the infection. And Tony and Bruce were able to find a decent numbing agent, and as long as I don’t scratch at it, it it’ll heal up well enough.”  She sounded as though she’d tried, and he swallowed hard at the thought. He’d done that to her--and he’d almost done more than that, too.  

“Good.  I’m glad to hear it.”  He paused, and then plunged ahead.  “I came to apologize.  I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, about what you said and about what I did to you.  I’d still like to be your Dom, Natasha, but more than that I’d like to prove to you that you can trust me again.”  Why did it feel like this was a bigger deal than maybe it should have been?  Perhaps because he’d never before wanted someone to say yes to something so badly, or because it felt as though much more was riding on this than usual.  Either way it made his heart jump into his throat as she looked away from him, head turned to the side as her eyes stared at everything and yet nothing at the same time.  He recognized it, having seen her use the same look when she would think something over. 

At least she recognized that this was just as big of a decision, though the stakes were a little less intense this time around.  She could still live, but she’d have to convince Tony that he needed her, couldn’t live without her the same as he couldn’t live without Bruce.  

Just to spite him, Steve was sure the bastard would do it.  

“How do I know that the minute I accidentally piss you off I’m not going to end up with a second tattoo?  Or worse?”  she challenged, turning her head back to face him, arms tightening where they’d folded over her chest again, cutting him off from seeing the rest of her.  How smart his kitten really was.  

“Because the instant I did, you'd just run back to Stark and we'd have to repeat the process all over again. And I can’t bear to see that bastard looking so goddamned smug.”  Here they shared a quiet laugh, Natasha's a little hesitant, but it was enough to give Steve his first genuine fragment of hope.  “But more than that, because I want to be what you need.  I know you like the dynamics that we’ve had in the past, when you first came around and things were, well, good.  You were responsive and I knew it was what you liked.  I want to give you that again, but I want to be better this time. I want you to feel safe with me as your master-- I want to learn how to be a good master. But  I can’t unless I have you in my corner to tell me what I’m doing right and wrong.  I can’t unless you trust me again and let me make you feel that good again, Natasha.”  Another pause.  “Kitten.”  

She shivered at the nickname. She couldn’t get away from how much she liked it, and he fed on that as much as he could.  He stepped closer to her to bend down onto both knees.  

“I swear to God if you pull out a ring, Steve--”

He laughed and shook his head.  “No, Natasha.  I heard about how your last marriage turned out and I have no intention of repeating any bit of that or putting you through it.”  Instead, he presented her with another collar, custom-designed, just like Bruce’s, except where the scientist’s was a gaudy arrangement of peridots and amethysts, Natasha’s was far more subtle.  The leather was the best money could buy--and oh had Steve shelled out a pretty penny for this, thank God for a military pension that had added up while he was on ice--and he’d had a small Black Widow symbol added, cutting rubies in the shape of two triangles at the very front.  It could’ve passed off as an expensive-looking necklace, but on the inside he’d had “Property of Steve Rogers” embroidered in deep crimson thread.  She could wear it on missions without the worry of looking like a bondswoman--all in all, a fair deal for both of them, which was much more than Steve had ever been concerned about before.

Natasha took the collar into her hands, running her fingers across the smooth leather,  her eyes wide and her mouth opened half an inch in surprise.  Whatever she’d been expecting it hadn’t been that.  

Taken aback by her silence, Steve hastened to add: “If you don’t like it we can go together and pick out or design another one.  Whatever you want.  I need to treat you better and even though it’s shallow, I thought buying you nice things might at least be a good start, at least until you trust me enough to let me show you how I plan on being better.”  

Almost unconsciousy, she shook her head and smiled at him.  “It’s lovely.  Really, Steve." She hesitated for a quick moment, but when she spoke again, her voice was assured. "Help me put it on?”  

He felt his heart lighten even before his face showed it, and with a simple nod he waited until she turned around to slip it around her neck, securing the buckle with sure fingers and pressing a light kiss over her pulse point.  God, he’d missed her, and judging by the way her breath hitched she felt the same way.  He wondered if their separation had done anything to increase her libido the way that it had his, and the thouht of coupling after so long nearly made him lose his shit right there. He ghosted his hand down her side, moving towards her breasts--.

“Master, you still have to make me trust you,” she murmured, and though she shot him down, he knew she was in the right. But still, he couldn’t stop his stomach from flipping at the reinstallation of his title on her lips and in her mind.  It was a step.  Regretfully, he pulled his hand away and when she turned back around it was with a look of surprise.  

“I told you I’d try,” he reminded her, but he couldn't resist coming in for a proper kiss, bringing his lips down over hers with a potent need. She rewarded him by giving, opening herself to him so he could set out to conquer her mouth again, make it his own until she was moaning and trembling beneath him.  He kept his hands on her hips, though, forcing himself to keep it within the boundaries he could sense that she was determined to keep for some time.  That was fine.  They could both work at this, and they would make it right.

* * *

 

**_Four weeks later_ **

 

As they rode the private elevator up to the top floor of StarkTech Industries, Inc., Steve turned around only once to look at Natasha. She stood a few paces behind him, her eyes cast firmly down onto the floor. Her outfit was the last word in sexy-yet-conservative business attire; the grey pinstripe pencil skirt hugged all the right curves, and the matching suit jacket dipped just low enough to reveal a shadowy, enticing bit of cleavage. Her red hair was twisted back into a loose bun, and the only jewelry she wore was what many, at first glance, assumed to be an elegantly simple  black leather necklace. But there was no chance of mistaking its true purpose now; its true purpose as a collar could not be more clear, as a leash was attached to it. 

The other end of the leash dangled, loosely, in Steve’s hand, his fingers tangled in the end of it.  When the elevator doors slid open, he didn’t pull, didn’t have to with Nat following him willingly towards the offices of Tony Stark.  At the desk just in front of the office there was a flurry of movemet as a strawberry blonde woman stood as she watched Captain America leading a once-formidible Russian spy towards her boss’s office.   

“Excuse me.”  The man at her side had risen, his hackles all but raised as he watched the pair step closer.  Nat didn’t even flinch, following Steve without so much as a second thought, eyes still focused on the floor, while Steve put up a hand to make the sub stand down.  Pepper murmured something to the man they both knew to be Happy, who simply crossed his arms over his chest and glowered.  

“Do you have clearance to bring her here?” Pepper asked, voice tight.  “Last I heard from Tony, I had to be careful she didn’t come after me in retribution for some intel he hacked about her former employers.”

Steve just grinned and shook his head.  “Does she really look like she’d kill you?”

Pepper didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to, her eyes conveying to Steve that she knew better than to judge someone, no matter how innocuous they might look.  Furthermore, her eyes silently warned, that he ought to take her advice and do the same.  He tipped his head in acknowledgement before continuing on.  

“Miss Potts--” Happy interrupted but Pepper cut him off with a quick, lethal glare, one that promised his backend a good tanning.  

Steve didn’t bother knocking as they pushed past the doors, and he couldn’t help but grin to see Bruce there as well, sitting just beside Tony as they stared at something on the CEO’s computer.  The corporate look suited Tony, Steve thought, watching as the pair looked up at the entering couple, Tony dressed in what looked to be an Armani suit, the sleeves rolled up slightly and the top button undone, Bruce’s own outfit mirroring his Dom’s tastes--deep purple button-up showing off his new, emerald green collar, the sleeves rolled up and tips of his fingers coated in ink, likely from where they’d been writing details of their newest project.  It was a fine look for the pair, and from the way that Nat stiffened just beside Steve he knew she thought the same.  

“The prodigal Dom returns,” Stark said, grinning as he sat back in his seat, his hand finding the back of Bruce’s and sweeping across it lightly.  “Where the hell have you two been for the last month?  You don’t call, you don’t write.  Geez, I thought I’d never get you crazy kids back.”

Natasha remained silent, and Steve shrugged. “Been here and there. Had a few missions.”

“Yeah, we heard about Riyadh.” Tony’s eyes narrowed as he focused on Natasha, but it was Bruce who spoke up next, to hell with speaking out of turn. “How’s the ankle?”

Natasha glanced up then and over at Steve, who gave a nod.

“Better, thanks. Turned out to be a bad sprain, not a fracture, but it was a lesson--never do undercover work in a burqa.” 

Stark allowed himself a harsh laugh at that, though his hand had moved to grip the hand of his sub and clench it tight to lead Bruce to lay down across his lap.  No one said a word as he meted out twenty hits **,** Bruce’s pants slung low around his ankles before Stark’s hand made contact with the scientist’s bare ass, and once he was done Bruce thanked him with a kiss on the cheek.  

“Aren’t you two cute?” Steve smirked.  “Hate to steal your thunder, we’ve got something for you.  Natasha wants to say thanks.”  As he spoke he led Nat closer, and with one long sweep of his arm the work that Stark had had in front of him fell to the floor.  The Dom didn’t even say a word, sitting back in his chair and eyeing the pair of them with an eyebrow raised.  Natasha stepped forward and shimmied out of her pencil skirt to reveal a black red and lace thong, which left plenty of skin on view--as well as a hip decorated with a new tattoo. Natasha turned slowly at Steve’s urging, giving the two men in front of her the best view before turning and undoing the buttons of her top one by one, revealing a matching, see-through balconette.  Steve could practically see Stark’s mouth salivating, his fingers twitching as he all but fantasized aloud about how he wanted to take it off.  The suit top hit the ground as Nat moved to sit on the desk, spreading her legs wide and leaning back on her elbows to gaze at Stark and Banner, lids heavy and eyes filled with lust as she slowly, deliberately licked her bottom then top lip.  To add the finishing touch, she ran a hand through the updo she’d taken so much time to do that morning and pulled out the pins and elastic band holding it in place. Her curls dropped around her shoulders, framing her creamy neck, and she brough up her hand to play with the leather collar, the newly turned around black widow symbol bringing their attention to her lace-covered breasts and ample cleavage.  

If she wasn’t sex incarnate Steve didn’t know what was.  

“Well, never let it be said you don’t know how to come in and make a presentation,” Stark said quietly, rubbing his hand over his mouth and goatee as he contemplated the vision in front of him.  “What’re the terms?  Half my kingdom for a night with her?”

“Nah.  This time it’s free of charge, though I might take you up on getting some new Stark tech if you’re not otherwise occupied afterwards,” Steve said with an easy grin.  He’d heard from Bruce that the man liked to do conceptualizing and R&D after a good fuck.  “Natasha wanted to repay you, and Bruce, for the kindness you showed her a month ago.”

“What a doll.”  Stark said, swallowing hard as he sat forward a little.  Natasha had hardly moved from the position she’d taken, splayed in front of him, ready for the taking.  “Bruce, do the honors of unwrapping our gift?  And let her know how much we appreciate her consideration.”

Bruce, who was hard from the show alone, stepped forward and pressed his lips hard against Natasha’s, devouring her as his fingers brushed against her bare shoulders, following the lace straps down to the clasp behind her.  She moaned quietly into the kiss, jutting her hips forward as he undid the hooks and slipped it slowly off of her breasts, allowing them to fall free and into his waiting hands. His fingers ran over her nipples, pinching and teasing them until they hardened beneath his touch, and then he drifted his hands further downward to slip beneath the band of her panties and slide them off her backside and thighs.  She lifted herself up to allow him better access, and as his hand brushed against the apex of her thighs he let out a slow hiss, pleased to find her already wet.  

“She’s ready, sir,” Bruce murmured as he pulled away, Nat’s breath ragged as she glanced from her friend to his Dom, then over to Steve.  The latter just squeezed Natasha’s shoulder and kissed his way up her neck after parting her hair.  

“She’s been ready for a while,” Steve offered.  “She’s been primed for the last two weeks.”

“Well, no harm in making sure,” Stark murmured, but Bruce spoke up again. 

“You mean you two--” he glanced from Natasha to Steve, and then back to Natasha-- “haven’t been…”

Tony has no compunctions about saying things like they are. “You two haven’t fucked? What the hell have you been doing?”

 “Knitting sweaters,” Steve muttered, rolling his eyes.  “There’s more to life than just fucking.  Like Natasha said--missions.”

But there was something more than just missions and knitting techniques going on, and both Bruce and Tony could see it. It was evident in the easy way that Natasha seemed to fall into the deferential position that Steve preferred, the more subtly confident way in which Steve asserted his will, as though he no longer expected habitual defiance or betrayal. The two of them had made good use of their time together, it seemed. 

“Well, you must show me your patterns sometime,” Stark muttered as he shifted himself in his seat, palm moving to his already hard cock and rubbing it through the fabric.  “For now, however, I think I’ve got something else planned.  Steve, you don’t mind?”  

“Oh, please.  Once you’ve got something in mind there’s little to nothing I can do to change it.”  Steve said with a roll of his eyes.  “But you can be damned sure I’ll be participating too. No way in hell am I letting someone fuck my little whore for the first time in a long time without me.”

Stark gave a long, drawn-out sigh that Steve knew was nearly all for show, before nodding.  “Fine.  If you insist.  Bruce, take off your shirt, I want you two naked first.  Nat, blow your Master for me.  Show me how much you love taking his cock.”

Neither of the added participants were about to complain, and as Bruce made a quick show of undoing his buttons and shifting his shirt off Stark’s gaze was drawn entirely to the way that Natasha laid vertically on the desk, her head hanging off the edge of the surface so that when Steve positioned himself, suit pants opened and cock dangling out, she took it into her mouth without a moment’s hesitation.  The position was perfect, allowing Stark to see the way her throat bulged with each movement of Steve’s cock, the way she deep throated him sheer perfection.  He loved hearing Nat moan as Steve started to fuck her mouth in earnest, one hand reaching down to play with her breasts, alternating between each one, slapping the nipples until she convulsed beneath him, coming without any further provocation.  They might not have been fucking but there was no denying that was a new trick Steve had taught her.  

_Knitting patterns indeed._

Stark motioned Bruce forward to attend to his painfully-hard cock, the sub's lips and movements mimicking Natasha’s so well that Stark’s eyes fluttered in his skull.  Bless rhe two subs for all the time they had spent together, talking, while she’d been staying with them. Stark had noticed a definite difference in technique and abilities since then.  That, in itself, had made Nat’s time with them worth it.  This was simply the icing on the cake.

 _Enough chatter, Stark.  Shut up and command them, dammit._  

As Bruce swirled his tongue around the tip of Stark's cock, he managed to gasp out orders. "Fuck Nat, Bruce. I want to watch you two do whatever I tell you to."

Steve growled deep in his throat but pulled out with a pop and a disappointed groan from Natasha, only to eye Bruce with a grin on her lips.

"On the desk," Stark rasped when Bruce drew nearer to Nat, and with steady legs Bruce hoisted himself onto the desk, Natasha repositioning herself beneath him. His cock slipped inside her with ease.

"Fuck her slowly. Build her up from nothing to a writing mess."

To his pleasure Bruce did just that. His tongue, lips, and teeth mapped out Natasha's body while his hips slowly moved against hers, a stronger torture than the crop or cat could provide. She canted her hips to try and make him go faster, but Bruce knew better, although his slow thrusts were driving him crazy, too. Bruce's fingers clenched the edges of the desk as he struggled to control himself, to calm down. His cock filled Nat almost perfectly, wide and smooth, driving her to insanity with each thrust, and disappointing her when he refused to heed to her keening and begging to speed up.

"Please, Bruce," Natasha whimpered as she drove her hips upward, back arching and offering her breasts to him. "I need you."

"No," he murmured, keeping her on the edge, slowing down even further as he looked over to Tony.  The man was standing, stepping out of his pants as he walked to the other side of the office.  From there he pulled out a bottle of lube, and when he turned back he saw both Bruce and Natasha kissing and mouthing their way up Steve’s cock, presented to them like a two-person lollipop and treated as though it was just as sweet.  It made Tony’s own dick throb with painful arousal, as he listened, amazed at the sounds that came out of the mouths of his sub and Natasha.  Lube in hand, he moved to stand behind Bruce and warmed the slick substance between his hands, then spread it not only over himself but over his sub’s opening.  Bruce whimpered as one of Tony’s fingers pushed into him, his muscles tightening, then relaxing immediately afterwards, as Tony pushed a second, then a third, finger inside him.  He stretched his fingers slowly, widening his sub as best he could, and arching them so that he rubbed his fingertips against the black-haired man’s prostate.  Bruce gave a funny wiggle, a gasp leaving his lips as he reared back and thrust even harder into Nat, for which she was immeasurably grateful based on how loud she cried, even from around Steve’s cock.  

“You ready, Brucey?” Tony rasped, pressing harder.  

“Y-yes, sir.  Please,” Bruce whimpered, bringing himself out of Nat to press further into Tony’s fingers.  Nat, though she groaned in disappointment, at least had the sense to keep from forcing him back inside her, though the sudden absence was more than uncomfortable--it was downright cruel.  

Not wanting to wait any longer to finally get in on the action, Tony removed his fingers from inside Bruce and swiftly replaced it with his cock.  The hand that had been opening Bruce up before held tight to Bruce’s hips while the other moved to squeeze one of his nipples, tight, painful.  

“Don’t leave the lady waiting,” Stark growled, pinching the other before Bruce could quickly shove himself back into Natasha.  Between the two of them they set a fast, staggered rhythm, Bruce’s own thrusts propelled by Tony’s, which were born of the need for a fast, hard orgasm.  He pounded relentlessly into his sub, making sure to angle his hips just right so he hit the his prostate again.  Beneath him, Bruce and Natasha had dissolved into simply moaning, their tongues swirling around Steve’s cock, taking it in turn to deep throat it as Steve groaned and tipped his head backwards, one hand wrapped in Nat’s hair to stroke her and keep her in constant contact at all time.  She seemed to enjoy it, leaning into his touch as she gazed up at him.  

As Bruce took the head of Steve’s cock into his mouth, Nat tipped herself backwards a little further so her lips could press to his balls, running her tongue along the underside before she took one slowly in her mouth.  Steve shouted, coming unexpectedly, surprising Bruce so that the white liquid dribbled down his chin.  Nat didn’t miss a beat, leaning up to lick it from the corner of the man’s mouth. The sight alone was enough to make Tony groan in pleasure, losing all hope for finesse and rhythm as the two subs writhed beneath him.  Steve had moved to sit down just beside the desk, watching with a lazy smile as Natasha’s orgasm proved to be the spark to the powder keg, setting off Bruce, who then tightened around Tony, the latter coming with a litany of curses, body spasming.

It wasn’t long before the CEO pulled out and allowed Bruce and Nat to do the same, though the former was preoccupied kissing his way down his friend’s body, showing a level of contentedness seldom seen by any of them.  Distracted as she was by the diminishing tremors of her orgasm, Natasha's eyes still searched out Steve’s, and they two of them shared a private smile that Tony felt wrong for witnessing--but strangely happy that he had. 

**The End**


End file.
